


Bloodlines

by peachxi (peachi3)



Series: Invictus (A Little Wicked verse) [2]
Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexuality Spectrum, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Dark Magic, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae Magic, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Park Chanyeol, Minor Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Kim Jungwoo, Minor Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin/ Zhang Yixing | Lay, Multi, Non-Penetrative Sex, OT7, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Plot With Porn, Polyamory, Reconciliation, Sequel, Smut, Trans Male Character, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 149,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachi3/pseuds/peachxi
Summary: There’s nothing Taeyong wouldn’t do to return to those he loved, but he hadn’t considered that what he would come home to might be shattered beyond repair.The death that day may have prevented another, but it set into motion a chain of events that none of them could ever be prepared for; united they stand, divided they fall.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongin | Kai, Byun Baekhyun/Lee Taemin, Byun Baekhyun/Lee Taeyong, Byun Baekhyun/Mark Lee (NCT), Byun Baekhyun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Lee Taemin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Everyone/Everyone, Kim Jongin | Kai/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin, Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taeyong, Kim Jongin | Kai/Mark Lee (NCT), Kim Jongin | Kai/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Taemin/Lee Taeyong, Lee Taemin/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Taeyong/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Lee Taeyong/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Mark Lee (NCT)/Lee Taemin, Mark Lee/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Series: Invictus (A Little Wicked verse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606135
Comments: 263
Kudos: 325





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚
> 
> I'm so excited (and nervous, honestly) to finally begin posting the sequel to ALW. I never thought this would become what it has and I can't thank you enough for all your love and support along the way ♡
> 
> I know this might seem . . . rough, but I promise that things will be better!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings:  
> \- general angst lol  
> \- toxic mindsets/no regard for personal wellbeing  
> \- implied trauma  
> \- mentions of alcoholism and coping mechanisms

Perhaps once upon a time, Mark would’ve given everything just for it to be the two of them again, but now there was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for things to be how they’d been once before. 

For them to be whole again.

Once upon a time, Mark would’ve woken up to sweet kisses, but these days he wasn’t surprised that when his eyes fluttered open Jongin was already sitting up in bed and facing away from him, head bowed. He let out a small yawn that crinkled his nose before he brought a hand up to rub over his face and brush away and remnants of sleep. The first time, it’d hurt, but now . . . perhaps they were all a little damaged, and he couldn’t crucify Jongin for struggling these days. Gods knows he was coping better than most.

“Morning,” he murmured softly as he pulled himself up into a sitting position and let the blankets pool down around his waist, arms stretching up above his head until that pleasant almost-too-painful burn settled into his shoulders and his eyes watered. Jongin offered only a little grunt as a response. Mark couldn’t say that he wasn’t used to it.

_Before_ , a morning like this would’ve been spent lounging around in bed, probably with a few other bodies filling the space of this bed. _Before,_ Jongin would’ve trailed gentle kisses over his skin, maybe they would’ve even found themselves falling back into the sheets for another round, perhaps something a little tamer given the pleasant ache in their bodies. _Before_ , Jongin would’ve smiled at him.

_Now,_ he shuffled over on the bed and stretched out the muscles in his thighs before wrapping his arms around the other male’s shoulders and burying his face into the nape of his neck. Soft, silver strands tickled at his face, having grown a little longer and unkempt over the past few months — he’d offered to cut it, but Jongin had never taken him up on it. Mark supposed he should be grateful that at least he could get the other man to shave by himself, these days. 

Maybe Jongin didn’t say anything or turn to pull him in closer, but he did cover one of his hands with his own and bring it up to graze lips over his knuckles, then the ring there, the one he’d given him what felt like a lifetime ago. It was more precious to him now more than ever.

Yesterday had been one of the better days, obviously, and the mess in their sheets was a more pleasant reminder of that, but today . . . Mark had been dealing with this for long enough now that he’d learnt how to read Jongin’s moods and recognise when one day was going to be worse than another. Sometimes he could tell when something would set him off, sometimes there didn’t seem to be any sort of trigger whatsoever. It wasn’t _easy_ , but even after everything, even though he was the only one left, he wouldn’t abandon Jongin. He’d sworn himself to him — his heart, his body, his soul.

“C’mon, let’s get you up and dressed, hyung,” Mark spoke quietly as he dropped a kiss onto a tanned shoulder and pulled back, sliding off the bed and padding over to the closet. He grabbed a robe off the floor on the way and lazily draped it around himself even though there was no shame between them these days. Mark had never made a habit of walking around naked. 

This was their routine on a lot of mornings, where he’d get up first and get them both clothes, at least. Today he simply put his own to the side before walking back over and guiding the elder to stand up so that he could dress him. He started with his underclothes first and they’d done this enough times that there was no resistance whatsoever — Jongin just watched him, looking perpetually tired and lacking that light that’d always filled his eyes, the warmth.

Mark knew he still blamed himself.

They all blamed themselves.

“Take a day off,” he murmured as he did up the other’s top button, patting the soft material with a soft look before taking a step back. Jongin always looked beautiful. “It’s not like there’s anything planned and I can deal with any problems. Why don’t you . . . why don’t you go for another ride, hyung? It’s been a while.”

That had Jongin finally focusing on him, his brows drawing together a little like he was troubled by the suggestion, but Mark could see that he wanted to. The younger just offered a soft, encouraging smile and leant up to kiss the other’s cheek. 

“You’re not going to insist that I take a guard?”

“I think you can take care of yourself, just this once,” Mark chuckled, and _that_ earned him the faintest semblance of a rare smile, just a barely-there twitch of the other’s lips that had his heart soaring with a traitorous sort of hope.

One day at a time, right? Mark had to believe that things could get better.

“Dealing with disputes isn’t your job, Mark,” Jongin huffed quietly. “I’m supposed to be here, to be their leader — it doesn’t matter if I’m—“

“Jongin,” Mark interrupted. There weren’t many who’d ever speak to the king in such a way even though people knew that he was kind, far from the tyrant many had once expected. Even so, no one knew Jongin as well as he did; sometimes, he felt that perhaps he knew Jongin better than the man did himself. “I deal with these people on a daily basis, I’m sure I can deal with any issues that come up. Let me be there for you — let me share the burden.” There was no doubt that it was a burden, the crown, but one that he _knew_ that Jongin would never want to truly relinquish no matter how much he’d professed that he should, that he wanted to. It meant too much to him. If Mark thought that taking him away from all this would’ve helped . . . well, he would’ve done it in an instant. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mark.”

Mark just laughed at that, shoving the other’s shoulder lightly before reaching out to grab one of his cloaks, something darker and far more subtle, before draping it around the other and doing up the clasp. “You don’t need to find out,” he murmured as a reassurance before finally forcing himself to pull back. “Just promise me that you’ll grab some breakfast on your way out and that you’ll be careful.”

Part of him certainly wished that he could’ve followed after the other and taken a day off (especially given that he was the one who’d been working himself to the bone since that day), but Mark knew that Jongin needed some time to himself.

He could buy him that time.

Mark wandered back over to the closet that he’d already left open and let out a slow, drawn-out sigh as he traced his fingers over the rows of fabric, trying to decide what he should wear. He was no royal, but he had status in Jongin’s court, _respect_ from the people and due to his position as captain of the guard — the sole captain, now that Lucas was . . . gone.

Ten, too. Taemin. Baekhyun, well, he saw him around sometimes.

The dark-haired male sighed and toyed with the heavy ring sitting on his finger as he stared at the wardrobe. One step at a time. 

-

Truth be told, there was a reason why Jongin hadn’t been as eager to leave the castle like he once had. Reasons, really. 

For one, it reminded him of happier times, times that he couldn’t bring himself to think about, not when the mere memories were capable of inflicting such debilitating pain. Jongin had once believed that the dead lived on in your memories and that no matter the pain it was your duty to honour them — maybe he simply couldn’t remember the pain of losing his family as vividly as he’d once thought, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling pain like this. It simply wasn’t comparable to anything physical.

Those happier times all lead back to the man he’d often snuck past the city walls with when he could afford to put off his royal duties, the man who’d sacrificed himself so that Jongin wouldn’t die because of some prophecy that . . . it was so stupid, that a few uttered words could change the course of his world. Jongin had been utterly inconsolable in those days following the battle, and whilst he wasn’t proud of his actions in those moments, he still felt like all that anger and confusion had been justifiable. Junmyeon had been there— had _known_ they thought it was him, so of course, he’d been furious.

“It _was_ supposed to be you,” Junmyeon had replied when he’d slammed the other into the wall, looking just as lost. “I saw you run through. Taeyong . . . he defied fate.”

Jongin had yelled and screamed until his lungs were hoarse and the others had held him back so that he wouldn’t hurt anyone or himself; he’d been so confused. He’d never had a formal coronation ceremony and therefore would still be considered a prince by the old laws regardless of his title, that much made sense, so why Taeyong?

The answer had come whispered from the lips of a man he’d once trusted with his life — his soul. It was one Jongin was still coming to terms with, even five months later.

These woods had once been a source of peace and solace for the king, but these days they held ghosts of a soft smile, of loud, twinkling laughter and soft smiles just for him. Jongin tried to keep his eyes forward as his horse trotted along the path, one that’d started to be swallowed by the forest after months of disuse, plants creeping up through the soil and trying to reclaim it. Once it’d been well worn, but he hadn’t dared step foot here for a long, long time, not after the first attempt.

_It should’ve been me_.

By the gods (not that he particularly believed in them these days), things would’ve been so much easier if he’d been the one that’d died that day like he was supposed to. That’s what he’d planned for, after all, down to every detail. Jongin hadn’t been too worried about the legacy he’d leave behind yet he’d known it’d be a nice one, that those he loved would remember him fondly and make sure he wasn’t forgotten, that these people would remember him as a benevolent, kind king. He’d known that the people would be in good hands, especially with the heir he’d written into his will.

It hadn’t been an easy decision, to choose who would be his successor. Jongin had no living relatives, even distant, that he knew of, no children to continue his bloodline, and he’d known that dying without a safety net for something like this in place would leave the kingdom in chaos.

Once upon a time, he’d considered Taemin for a brief moment, only to push the thought to the side instantly. Taemin was too much of a free spirit, and beyond that, he’d had plenty of chances in his lifetime to be a ruler; he knew it wasn’t something that the warlock had ever desired and that he much preferred pulling the strings.

Baekhyun had been his next thought if just because he had years of experience under his belt. He was smart, too, an extremely valuable tactician with a mind that was certainly suited towards the politics that’d be involved in running a kingdom, as well as a personality that meant he’d be well-loved by nobles and common folk alike. Baekhyun, though . . . he was too much of a free spirit — he’d hate to be tied down by something such as this. All work, no fun.

Lucas and Ten, _of course_ he’d considered them, especially if they’d had each other and everyone else by their sides — they were both incredibly dedicated and motivated individuals who had already displayed just how amazing they’d be as leaders. Lucas was the sort of man that everybody admired and obeyed, and Jongin could see how he’d be an incredible king, but he also knew that Lucas had never wanted a responsibility like that. Ten, on the other hand . . . Ten had always wanted power and status from the moment he’d met him, and that wasn’t something he could fault the other for — he was much more humbled these days, more level-headed than he’d ever been as a youth, and Jongin didn’t think he’d make a bad king, either. He’d be a wonderful choice.

They all would, even Taeyong — in a way, _especially_ Taeyong, if just because there was no one else who knew this city, this kingdom, better amongst them. The people adored and trusted him. He was kind, just, but he was able to do the things that needed to be done, something Jongin had seen time and time again. He would’ve . . . he would’ve done well.

Yet, even since they were children, Jongin supposed that he’d always seen Mark as his protégée. He’d taught him how to read and write, to fight, _everything_ , and in the back of his mind, he realised that he’d always imagined Mark as the logical choice for someone to follow his lead. The only thing that’d made Jongin hesitate before he’d put pen to paper was the simple fact that he was still young. Not a child, no, Mark had grown into a fine young man, but he . . . he was hesitant to steal away his youth by placing such a heavy burden on his shoulders. Even if he knew Mark would excel and only grow into himself even more than he already would, Jongin would always worry about the young — he often saw that young boy who’d saved his life staring back at him at times, rather than the man he’d become over the years.

With the knowledge that everyone would be by his side to support him, though, Jongin had allowed himself to write the other’s name down on his will.

So much for that, huh? If he’d died then they probably would’ve still been here, together, like it was supposed to be.

If there was even a chance that dying now could somehow undo what’d been done and bring Taeyong back to them, Jongin would do it without a moment’s hesitation. He’d never felt so helpless in the span of his existence. 

The meadow was . . . not just as he remembered it, not really. The remnants of winter had melted away months ago and now the sun filled the clearing before him, grass swaying gently in the breeze and a multitude of flowers turned skywards to drink their fill of the summer warmth. The last time Jongin had dared venture here had been when there was still a faint chill in the air and he’d had to wear a coat, even if it’d done nothing to warm his weary body — that chill had been resonating deep in his bones for reasons unrelated to the seasons. 

Jongin took a few moments to let his eyes wander over the meadow before he took a tentative step forward, then another. There was just something he couldn’t put his finger on, something different, and he—

All those months ago he’d carried a small sapling in his arms and painstakingly planted it in the soil, positioning it so that one day, hopefully, it’d shelter the rocks they’d once lounged on and cover them with a curtain of soft, white blossoms. A hawthorn, because Taeyong . . . that’d been his favourite. The one in the castle gardens hadn’t bloomed since the day he’d died yet in a way Jongin had been grateful for it if just for the fact that the flowers had always reminded him of Taeyong. His hair, his smile, of fond memories in the gardens, side by side.

In the end, he’d never returned to check whether the tree even survived or blossomed in the spring, unable to face the sight of it after the tears he’d shed before it and desperate pleas for Taeyong’s return.

Jongin let out a shaky breath as he stepped forward again, and then again, forcing himself to walk through the flowers underfoot until he was standing a few feet away from the trunk before him. It was . . . gods. He couldn’t stop the choked sob which fell from his lips, nor the way his eyes burned as he fell down to his knees; one hand had reached out to set down on stone, petals brushing his skin. White blossoms, _everywhere_ , and the source was none else than that tiny sapling he’d planted all that time ago, already grown into a tree that looked like it’d taken root years ago, and even in the midst of summer it still had flowers gracing its branches.

His own experience with death had left him jaded and convinced that there was nothing that followed — that you simply ceased to exist — yet this, hell, how could a small part of him not hope that it was some sort of sign that he’d been wrong. If anyone deserved to have an after, to live on even in the essence of the universe, it was someone like Taeyong, someone who’d always been so unwaveringly _good._

The silver-haired male didn’t bother holding back his tears, instead freely letting them water the ground beneath him, head bowed and shoulders shaking a little as he gathered some of those flowers in his palms.

_I miss you so much_ , he thought to himself. _I can’t even open my eyes without seeing pieces of you everywhere. You’re in everything, Taeyong, even my own reflection._

Something cold and sharp pressed itself against his throat — not cutting into his skin, yet there was a faint bite that was certainly a promise of something more if he wasn’t careful, and instantly his breath hitched. Shit. _Shit_ , he was such an idiot, wasn’t he? Letting his guard down like that, to the point that he hadn’t even heard anyone sneaking up on him or drawing any sort of blade. It wasn’t like Jongin had any reasons to think he was in danger, though; the meadow was far out of the city and not near any towns, certainly not a place someone would just wander by.

“What’s a lone traveller doing all the way out here?” A voice spoke from behind him, the voice cheery in a way that was far from friendly, far too saccharine. Jongin just swallowed thickly and let the unknown man guide him to stand, that blade a constant warning to make sure he followed his orders, hands up in surrender and gaze focused on the tree. Was this how he was supposed to die? Out here, all alone, something far from noble? After Taeyong had sacrificed his own life to keep him alive . . . and what good had he done with this chance to live?

“It seemed like a nice day for a walk,” he replied evenly. Curse him for not bringing any sort of weapon with him. Based on the angle of the blade and where he could hear the voice projecting from, it seemed his captor was around his height — not much of an advantage there. Jongin wished he could even get a glimpse at an arm to try and garner whether their physical build varied at all, whether he’d be able to disarm the other quickly and get the upper hand.

“Somehow I don’t believe you. Tell me, what are you rea—“

“Yuta,” a voice called, soft and twinkling like bells. It was so painfully familiar. “It’s okay — it’s Jongin.”

-

“Woo!” Mark called as he jogged across the bustling street, midday sun already beating down on his shoulders and causing small beads of sweat to form across his brow. Summer had never been his favourite season during his youth, not when it meant hours of training in the heat and trying not to stare at the way that Jongin’s clothes would cling to him as he hit him with a wooden stick and told him to straighten up his back. These days, though, the heat was welcome — perhaps it was capable of burning away the pain that had burrowed deep into his bones.

“Wha— oh, Mark,” the other chuckled as he stopped in front of him, hand resting on the handle to the tavern; Jungwoo was still dressed in his gear, but Mark knew his shift had ended not that long ago. This was always the place to find the other when he wasn’t rostered on, not because the other was a heavy drinker by any means, but because of what lay within. “Before you ask, he’s back.”

“Oh, okay. Good.”

“Doyoung’s starting to get frustrated again, Mark — he’s really racked up debt again. You’re lucky he listens to me.”

“Lucky you have him wrapped around your finger, you mean,” the dark-haired male joked softly, but Jungwoo just smiled and didn’t bother to deny it. “But thank you, Woo. He’ll get paid today.”

The tavern was never really empty, these days. When they’d first arrived in this city it’d been nothing more than a decrepit, run-down building that the last city guards had used as their playground, but these days, now that everyone had settled into life and didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was, there was money for luxuries such as alcohol. There was time for people to relax and enjoy themselves. Needless to say, Kim Doyoung’s business was thriving, and Mark didn’t want to think about how much money he’d had to hand over to cover his hyung’s new habit.

Mark navigated his way through the tables and bustling servers with ease, lips pressed into a firm line as he scanned across the bar before his eyes came to rest on a familiar figure. New hair again, huh? The knight let out a small huff before glancing up to where Doyoung had already noticed him — the black-haired male looked less than impressed and wiping down cups, arching an eyebrow as if to ask where his money was.

“Keep the rest,” he spoke up as he leant past Baekhyun to set a bag of coins down on the counter. It was a lot, but he knew by the next time he came to pay off the other’s growing debt he would have already drunk through it. 

“Aww, come on! I bet Jungwoo that you wouldn’t be back this time,” Donghyuck whined as he brought another round of empty cups back to the bar.

“Of course Mark came back, you little gremlin,” a voice spoke from beside him — Baekhyun. His voice was a little rough and his words slurred around the edges, an almost empty cup nursed in his hands; Mark knew it wasn’t his first of the day. Probably not even his fourth.

“Says you, old man,” Donghyuck snorted. Before he could say anything else Jungwoo stepped over and ruffled his hair which was enough to have him whining and trying to fix it.

Doyoung was always the sort of man that Mark had struggled to get a read on. He hadn’t known him when they were children even if he’d known of his father, who’d owned this place, but then again he hadn’t known Jungwoo either. When Jungwoo had first brought him back here all those months ago, before _everything_ , the guy had been a little intimidating. Reserved, he supposed. They were all products of their situations, though, and Doyoung had grown up in this city — had to learn not to take shit off anyone, something that was still very much the case.

Even so, it was always something special to see the way his eyes would soften and light up when Jungwoo was around.

“I’ve got money for you too, hyung,” Jungwoo mused with a smile as he pulled a small pouch from his belt and added it to the pile, looking like a literal angel. Doyoung didn’t even get a chance to protest. “Uh uh — only four hundred and twenty-seven more coins and then I’m done, promise.”

“When I said you could pay me back someday, I didn’t mean literally,” the barman muttered as he pursed his lips and eyes the bag as though it had personally offended him.

It’d taken a few months for Jungwoo to deem him a close friend, but eventually he had decided that Mark was worthy of knowing his story — that he was trustworthy enough of knowing about Doyoung. Jungwoo had laughed when he’d first said it, but Mark still thought that it sounded like a fairy tale.

They all knew the city had been a mess before they’d gotten back here and they’d seen the effects first hand, but hearing Jungwoo’s story had been something else. His mother had been a prostitute when he was young; food had been hard to come by, money even more so, and so she’d done whatever she’d needed to in order to keep her and her son alive, to give him the best chance at life. One day she’d just never come back, though. Jungwoo had said he was never quite sure what happened to her, but it didn’t take a genius to guess with other stories they’d heard around the city. 

A young Jungwoo had been left orphaned and alone on the streets, scavenging for whatever scraps he could find and trying to stay alive as best he could, until one night he’d found shelter in the alley behind Doyoung’s father’s tavern.  ****

Doyoung had snuck him out stale bread even though his father had beaten him for it, smiling at the drenched street rat hiding behind some crates and telling him that everything would be okay.

Mark supposed that kindness had never stopped even though _kindness_ wasn’t something that anyone could afford back then, because Jungwoo had survived and had never really left Doyoung’s side; even now that the other ran this tavern Jungwoo was so insistent on paying him back for everything he’d done for him over the years.

He didn’t stare when Jungwoo leant over the counter to press a small kiss to Doyoung’s cheek, just smiled to himself even when it made his chest ache a little.

“You didn’t have to do that, Mark. S’not a good look for me, having you pay — I’m supposed to be the hyung,” Baekhyun spoke up from his right, lifting his tankard up to take another long sip, throat bobbing as he finished off the rest of the liquid inside. 

“You don’t act like it,” Mark bit out before he could help himself. He just—- he _knew_ it hurt, okay? But they were _all_ hurting, and yeah, maybe deep down he was a little bit bitter that he’d never been given time to grieve, certainly not to heal. Jongin needed him to be strong so he had someone to lean on and help run the kingdom, and Baekhyun was a fucking mess, away most of the time in the northern kingdom so he didn’t have to face them, and when he was here he couldn’t even do it sober. 

Baekhyun actually flinched at that, something crossing his features that Mark couldn’t quite place before it was gone again. The pale-haired male pressed his lips together and looked away, motioning for another drink before pausing as though he could feel Mark’s eyes on him — he put his hand down. Last time he’d seen Baekhyun his hair had been an obnoxious shade of orange, probably Jongdae’s work, but this time it was a bit more refined; still a little obnoxious in the way it was a bright blond, the sides and back shorter underneath. It definitely still stood out. 

“Here to scold me, Mark?”

“No,” he admitted. “There’s no point, you wouldn’t listen to me anyway, Baekhyun. I just . . .” he trailed off, swallowing thickly and unclenching his hands by his sides. “I wanted to make sure you . . . I missed you.” Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have struggled to force those words from his lips, but these days nothing was easy, not anymore. 

“Mark,” Baekhyun breathed out as he looked back at him, finally, expression more soft rather than that jovial mask he always seemed to slip into place. “I— shit.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Mark.”

“Just come home, for one night.” Mark couldn’t help the way it sounded like he was pleading, and maybe he’d be ashamed later but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Please, hyung, just have dinner with us, we never see you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea—“

“We’re supposed to be a family,” Mark interrupted. “Or doesn’t that matter, anymore?”

There was a long, tense silence that stretched between them and seemed to go on forever before the elder cursed. “Of course it matters, Mark.” The dark-haired male didn’t answer right away, because he didn’t know what to say. None of them were good at talking anymore. “I’ll . . . I’ll go grab my things, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mark watched as Baekhyun pushed himself away from the bar and walked over to the staircase, no doubt heading up to one of the rooms above the tavern. Baekhyun always stayed here, rather than the castle. In a way, he couldn’t quite blame the other considering all the memories that were trapped within those stone walls, but another, larger part of him hated that he didn’t have that same freedom — that Baekhyun had left him behind. 

“I can cover drills in the morning,” Jungwoo hummed as he stepped up in front of him, dressed back into his own clothes rather than his uniform and looking much softer. More at home, he supposed. It was something that anyone would equate to being here at the tavern, but Mark knew that it was much more than that, that rather it was because he was back with Doyoung. 

“It’s your day off, Woo, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, silly, I’m offering. Besides, I come home to Doyoung every day, Mark.” The ' _you don’t'_ was unspoken, but it still settled in the air between them. Mark wanted to do the right thing and insist that it wasn’t necessary, but truthfully he didn’t want to — he wanted as much time with Baekhyun as he could get, even if it was fifty-fifty whether it’d end in arguments like last time. He hoped Jongin stayed out a little longer.

“As long as you’re sure.”

“Of course.”

-

“Hyung,” a voice aggressively whispered just before he moved to head back downstairs, fingers wrapping around his wrist and an all too familiar face popping up by his side. “Can I have your room tonight, since you won’t be here?”

“Hyuck, you have your own,” Baekhyun laughed. 

“Yeah, but it’s _mine_ , and if Woo checks on me—“

“Oh, are you having a guest tonight, kid?” He couldn’t help but tease and ruffle the other’s hair, but Donghyuck quickly whined and ducked away from his grip; it did nothing to hide the flush rising up onto his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’re _still_ after the baker’s son. C’mon kid, find someone else to have a crush on.”

“He’s only six years older than me, it’s not that big of a deal! I _know_ he likes me, he’s just too _chicken shit_ to admit it,” Donghyuck declared boldly with a spark in his eyes and fists clenched by his side despite the fact he was an interesting shade of red. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he huffed out.

“How are you gonna seduce him?”

“I . . . that’s not what the room is for,” the younger mumbled, “it’s for something else.” Huh. “But I will seduce him— someday. Just you wait.” He sounded so incredibly determined that Baekhyun couldn’t even bring himself to laugh. It truly was admirable, just how devoted this kid was already, how he knew what he wanted and didn’t hesitate to reach for it even if everyone thought he shouldn’t. Baekhyun couldn’t help but think it was adorable, considering that Donghyuck often had trouble keeping his cool around the man in question. 

“I’m sure you will, Hyuck. Just remember all the tips hyung gave you and you’ll have Taeil under your thumb in no time,” Baekhyun teased affectionately as he patted the younger’s shoulder. “The room’s yours, just make sure you don’t touch anything.” It was worth it just to see the way the kid’s eyes lit up — hopefully he didn’t get up to too much trouble, but Baekhyun knew better than to ask at this point. In ways, he supposed Donghyuck reminded himself of a younger him, albeit a much more well behaved one (which some wouldn’t believe because Donghyuck seemed to have a habit of getting up to all kinds of mischief all the time) that wasn’t as, uh, dangerous.

Baekhyun was pretty sure that if Doyoung found out it was _him_ who’d given Donghyuck the dagger he’d come back with a month ago then he’d have to make sure his drink wasn’t poisoned. 

“Thank you, hyung. You’re the best.”

Baekhyun just let out a small chuckle at that, though it did warm his heart considerably.

Mark was still waiting when he walked back down the wooden stairs to the main floor of the tavern; part of him had sort of been wishing that if he stalled long enough that the younger male would give up on this idea and leave without him, but he knew Mark far too well, knew that he’d never walk away. Even if he should. “C’mon then, let’s get going,” he drawled as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder and knocked into the dark-haired male’s side. Months ago, such antics would’ve gotten him a smile, but this time Mark’s lips didn’t even twitch.

It felt oddly akin to a walk of shame as he followed the other back up to the castle, like a child who’d been caught slacking on their chores and was dragged home by an exasperated parent. He supposed in a way that description was rather apt. Baekhyun . . . he knew he hadn’t been here much, that he hadn’t been here for them — for Mark — but he wasn’t the first one that’d left. And he still came back sometimes, still sent back any information he gathered, he was just . . . testing out other positions. He was the ambassador for the northern kingdom now, after all, and they weren’t in any imminent danger, so what did it matter if he wasn’t at the castle every day? At least, that was what Baekhyun had been trying to tell himself.

“Who should I be expecting?” The blond forced himself to speak up, hating how awkward his voice sounded, like some unsure teen. These halls were just as he remembered, save for one thing — even now, in warmer months, they felt so cold and impersonal, lacking any of the life that had once flowed through them. It was so quiet. 

“Just Jongin,” Mark murmured. The other had been sneaking glimpses at him the entire walk and had probably been attempting to be subtle, but subtlety had never been Mark’s forte; Baekhyun wanted nothing more than to reach out and tug the dark-haired male closer into his side, but he . . . well, he supposed he’d never stopped being a coward when it came to things that truly mattered.

“Okay.” Baekhyun hesitated for a moment as they moved through the halls before figuring to hell with it and reaching out, letting his finger’s graze against Mark’s even though he knew it probably wasn’t the best idea. It was still hard to watch the way such a small motion broke down the other’s defences — Mark looked like he wanted nothing more than to accept the touch and hold his hand, but there was such a heartfelt pain in his eyes. He’d once told himself that he’d kill anyone who made the younger look like that.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled softly. Mark swallowed thickly and averted his gaze again, fingers curling into his palms as a clear sign not to try again.

“Actions speak louder than words, hyung,” he breathed out, a little hoarse. Baekhyun couldn’t quite figure out what to say in response, so he said nothing, just watched as the younger set his hands on the wooden door in front of them and pushed to enter the dining hall.

Baekhyun had been expecting Jongin, but nothing could truly prepare him for seeing the other male in the first time for . . . what, two months? That was the last time they’d actually had any semblance of interaction in person, and even then it hadn’t really been any sort of conversation. He looked as beautiful as he remembered even if his hair was a lot shaggier and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and perhaps a little red like he’d been crying.

The second thing that caught his eye was an unfamiliar figure leaning against the table, half obscuring Jongin from his view; the man seemed to be around his own height, but that was about where the similarities ended. Black hair fell around his face, just grazing the tops of his shoulders, with half of it tied back and stray strands falling down into his face. Straight nose, a prominent cupid’s bow, a rather squared chin and angled brows that were currently furrowed and framing dark eyes which were eyeing them both warily. Baekhyun couldn’t miss the way one of his hands was on a blade by his waist, and instinctively he fumbled for one of the knives at his belt — even a little tipsy he could fight. 

There was something familiar about the man, though. Baekhyun knew they’d never met due to the simple fact that he _never_ forgot a face, but . . . it was something about him, about the aura he gave off, about the way he held himself. He was the sort of man who, even dressed in plain, common clothes, looked rather ethereal. Otherworldly. 

“ _Taeyong_?”

Baekhyun’s blood froze over as he heard the punched out gasp from Mark who was at his side, perhaps in a better position to see past the man in front of them. His eyes instantly snapped to the younger male and, gods, he looked like he’d seen a ghost, sheet-white and wide-eyed, chin wobbling. He could see the moment that Mark’s eyes started to water and he took a tentative step forward. Baekhyun was about to stop him before a hand settled on the man’s shoulder and gently eased him to the side, squeezing like the motion had the intent of being reassuring.

He didn’t understand Mark’s behaviour, not until another figure emerged from behind the other and stepped forward; kind eyes a little misty, lips pulled into a warm smile, soft hair falling around his face and an all too familiar little mark under his eye — there was no mistaking the face he’d spent so much time adoring.

Maybe they were seeing a ghost.

“I missed you both so much,” Taeyong spoke gently as he walked forward, almost tentative in his movements. Baekhyun was frozen in place, limbs unresponsive to his commands, but Mark didn’t seem to be having the same problem; the younger surged forward in a blur before he was crashing into Taeyong without any hesitation and wrapping him up in his arms. It was the sob that fell from him that finally spurred Baekhyun into motion. The blade in his fingers clattered down to the stone beneath his feet as he found himself drawn forward, much like a moth to a flame, hovering for half a second before he reached out with trembling figures to graze them over the soft skin of Taeyong’s cheek, tracing the birthmark there.

He was so warm to touch, so _alive_.

Baekhyun cursed himself for the way his eyes watered yet still couldn’t really bring himself to care if his eyes filled with tears as he instantly wrapped them both up in his arms, a silent sob rattling through his chest as he buried his face into pale strands and breathed it all in. Taeyong, here, alive, in his arms. 

“Gods,” he breathed in a rough timbre, squeezing them both in like he was scared to let go. Maybe he was — it felt like if he loosened his grip in the slightest they’d both drift away and he’d lose them again.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The halls were once so full of life, of love, but now all Taeyong can feel are whispers of what once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I know these are angsty, but it _will_ get better . . . eventually. It's been so rewarding to finally start piecing together all the things I've been hinting at and putting in place since the start of ALW.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and support already, it means so much to see so many familiar faces back for the sequel! 
> 
> I don't think there's anything in this chapter that really requires a TW but you can never be too careful!
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- very vague mentions of what could be classified as self-harm  
> \- even vaguer mentions of suicide  
> \- suggested substance abuse

There were plenty of reasons to explain why it’d taken Taeyong so long to come back to them, but at heart, even if it hadn’t actively delayed his return at all, he couldn’t deny that he’d been scared — still was. Part of him was crippled by the fear that there was no need for him to find his way home, that for one reason or another he’d return only to stumble across a pleasant scene, one which he played no part in. The concept of not only being unnecessary to those he loved, but unwanted . . . perhaps he was fae, but he wasn’t immune to such worries.

He hadn’t changed, not really.

Now that he _was_ home, Taeyong was starting to think that he would have much preferred for his doubts to be confirmed, rather than to come back to the aftermath of whatever had truly happened here.

It wasn’t like he’d planned to meet anyone so suddenly — certainly not here of all places. No, they’d arrived in the meadow for his peace of mind, a small reprieve to allow himself a moment to breathe and prepare himself for what lay ahead. 

Jongin being the first one he’d laid his eyes on after all this time had been bittersweet though what was done was done, and given that returning to the other male had been one of the hardest things on his list he was glad, in a way, that he’d gotten it out of the way first. Even so, nothing could’ve prepared him for that whirlwind of emotions that’d spewed out of him the moment they’d touched again.

Dying hadn’t been a pleasant experience, yet Taeyong still wouldn’t regret what he’d done even if he hadn’t been given a second chance; it was that seal that’d limited him for so long which had saved his life in the end and, ironically, set him free. He was alive and healthy now, and more noticeably he was . . . he’d never really been human, even if he’d believed it, but these days it was much harder to reconcile with that old version of himself. Little nuances that most people wouldn’t notice but that _he_ did were what bothered him most, things that were different and made him dwell. Bigger changes, like that faint point to his ears that he tried to hide as often as he could, not as severe as Yuta’s but still noticeable, were things he’d been worried about revealing.

Yet none of that had mattered in the moment — he was still Taeyong, and Jongin was still Jongin. _His_ Jongin. His first thought wasn’t about the dark circles or the way that Jongin looked so utterly broken, nor was it the shake to his hands, just that it was Jongin’s body he was wrapping his arms around and pulling close, that it was Jongin’s shoulder he was crying against, that scent he was breathing in again after so long.

Taeyong had feared that being _this_ would change everything, but he didn’t need to concern himself with whether he could still feel like a human — that was nothing to worry about, not when if anything it felt as though he was more sensitive to emotion than he’d ever been.

He hadn’t needed to ask Yuta to give them a moment alone in that meadow as they’d clung to each other and cried their hearts out, feelings that’d been bottled for months spilling into the air between them as they held on to the other’s clothes like they were scared to loosen their grip even minutely. It felt like Jongin would drift away with the breeze if he let go. Their initial reunion hadn’t required words, but Taeyong had known some questions needed to be answered; he’d given Jongin the briefest explanation he could for the moment to satisfy them until they got home, until he could tell everyone.

When they’d first slipped back into the castle and no one had come to greet them he should have known that something was amiss, especially when he couldn’t even feel anyone reaching out through their bond, something which had been dark ever since he’d died, but he . . . he’d just assumed the others were busy. Taeyong certainly hadn’t been in the mood to complain about having a few more moments to collect himself and focus on Jongin, who for now had seemed so much more intent on just holding him close than asking questions.

It wasn’t until Mark and Baekhyun had walked into the hall that he realised something was wrong.

Seeing them after so long . . . gods, Taeyong couldn’t even begin to explain what it felt like even if you asked him, other than perhaps a sense of, well, coming home. It felt _right_ , enough that for a moment he could overlook that heavy tension that settled in the air as they embraced and shed their tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he’d managed through more tears.

When Yuta branched off with the reasoning of, “I need to check this place out,” he’d finally had time to let himself notice the smaller things, the changes. For one, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Baekhyun so distraught before in his life, and when he’d been tugged in close he’d been able to pick up on the stench of liquor on his breath and clothes. Then there was the fact that Jongin had looked antsy and uncomfortable since the moment that Baekhyun had stepped into the room, and the way that Mark seemed to be automatically placing himself between the pair as a sort of mediator even in his dishevelled state, the way he’d shied away from Baekhyun when he’d wrapped around them both.

Taeyong could see so clearly the way they were all playing pretend as they all navigated their way back towards a more private space — his old quarters, which remained untouched, almost identical to the day he’d left them like no one had been able to bring themselves to change it. In theory, they should’ve brought someone else in to run the apothecary but he could see no signs of another. They were all tense, awkward, all of them sticking close to him without gravitating close to each other like had once been natural for them.

He’d seen no sign of the others in the halls or the rooms they’d passed, one of which had been Lucas’s, empty and vacant, and Baekhyun had been carrying a bag when he’d first come in. It . . . Taeyong hadn’t been sure what to make of it at first, but as he traced his fingers over the wooden grooves of his workbench and Jongin dared to come close and lean against his side again like he was worried of being pushed away, his mind started wandering to the unthinkable. 

“The others aren’t here, are they?” He spoke up, voice surprisingly even albeit a little stuffy from all the tears he’d shed in the past few hours. No matter how he sounded, the words felt like shards of glass as he forced them from his throat, digging in deep.

There was a long, tense moment of silence before anyone answered him. “No,” Jongin murmured, likely because he was the one next to him. Taeyong let out a deep breath that was perhaps a little shaky before he shifted and turned his head so that he could glance at the others; Mark was a few feet away, leaning against the bench and watching him like he still couldn’t believe he was here (Taeyong sort of couldn’t believe it either) and Baekhyun was off to the side, fidgeting and having trouble meeting his gaze. Oh.

“They’re not going to be coming back, are they?” Another long pause, except this time the pause was answer enough in itself and Taeyong had to fight back that pain that blossomed in his chest, taking root so firmly he knew he couldn’t just ignore it.

“I have so much to tell you,” he admitted quietly, looking back to Jongin and reaching up to brush back messy silver locks, drinking in the warmth of those honeyed eyes he’d missed so much before reluctantly breaking away. “All of you. And you . . . you have a lot to tell me too, I think. Let’s sit down.” A story such as this couldn’t be told standing.

-

“I died. I supposed that’s obvious. You all saw it happen that day, after all. I don’t _regret_ anything I did, even if maybe you’ll be angry at me for it — I never wanted to lie or to deceive you, you have to believe me when I say that, even if you believe nothing else. I suppose I should start from the beginning, right?” Taeyong wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it was Mark that reached over the small table to cover his hands with his own, the corner of his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles in an attempt to reassure him. They’d settled in the room they’d piled into all those months ago, nights before the battle, seated close by on the floor. He hadn’t missed that Baekhyun had grabbed a bottle of wine and was drinking directly from it rather than a cup.

No matter how frightening it was to bare his soul like this, he knew that they deserved the truth.

“I love you all so much. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve had to do, it was only ever to keep you all safe, not to hurt you; I never wanted to keep _secrets_ from you, but I . . . I felt like I didn’t have a choice. From the moment I agreed to help Seungyoun I knew it was a mistake but I couldn’t just run away from it, not knowing he’d done so much to hurt you already and that he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again — at first I thought I was the one manipulating him to help Jongin, but he was the one pulling the strings from the start. He _knew_ I’d double-cross him, and he was never trying to help. 

“He wanted it from the start, Kai gone; he knew that Kai would do anything for me, that he was also the best defence that Jongin had if things went bad, and he . . .”

“He knew that you’d do anything to try and help Jongin survive,” Mark guessed, and he was spot on.

“Kai wasn’t really supposed to die, was he?” Baekhyun mumbled, glancing up at him briefly. “I’ve seen Junmyeon a few times and spoken about what he saw that day. Things are never that clear but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out — a river, a forest, a full moon. ‘What could’ve been in another lifetime’, but ‘the death that prevents it’. You had a choice to make.”

“I didn’t know he saw that,” Taeyong answered carefully, knuckles white and lip trembling ever so slightly as he closed his eyes. Kai. “But yes. He would’ve saved Jongin rather than been the cause of his death, and Seungyoun led me to believe the opposite, so I . . . I put him to rest. I regretted it instantly but Seungyoun— I knew the moment he started talking that he seemed so pleased with himself and that I’d missed something, and I told him that I wouldn’t help him . . . but we’d made a bargain. I made him angry.

“Seungyoun was running out of time, so he told me the truth in the hopes that would sway me instead, so that I’d be cooperative and do what he wanted me to from the start. My mother was fae, just like my father, but that was where the differences ended; she was a maid that he seduced, and he . . . there’s no point me trying to play it down — he was their king.”

“A prince,” Jongin breathed with wide eyes. “He . . .”

“Once,” Taeyong corrected. “A bastard, more like, but I’d hoped that it’d be enough to fulfil the prophecy if it came to it and I was right. It’s the only good thing that came of it. All of his other heirs are dead, now, and if Seungyoun wanted control of the throne he needed someone with the right blood to take over, someone he could control, and eventually I was the only one he could use to get what he wanted. I was supposed to return with him and ascend, do as he pleased. I wouldn’t have been a king, just a pawn to get him what he wanted.

“I knew he saw me as weak and insignificant, and he was right — I’m nothing special, especially not for a fae. By their standards, I’m just a child, but it wasn’t about _me_ , it was about my _blood_. I knew that he’d underestimate me, us, because we’re everything he hated most; humans, tainted blood — weak in his eyes. He didn’t see me as fae no matter what promises he whispered in my ear.

“Taemin knew,” he admitted after a moment’s consideration, “but you can’t blame him for not telling you — I made him swear to me he wouldn’t and it would’ve been impossible for him no matter how much he tried. He had to prioritise all of you when it came down to it and make sure you all survived, even if it meant letting me die. I hate myself for making him promise me that, knowing how much it would’ve hurt him, but I . . . I needed someone who knew.”

“The bargain dissolved when you died.” Taeyong’s brows furrowed a little as he glanced back over to Jongin, but he supposed the more he thought about it, it made sense. Secrecy after death hadn’t been covered in their deal. “He— he tried to tell me, but I didn’t want to listen to him.”

“It hurt me to keep secrets,” Taeyong spoke, “but if it hurt me, it was agonising for him. You can’t blame him for anything that happened, or yourselves; even if you don’t want to say it, it was all because of me, and that’s not me being a martyr. Seungyoun came here because of _me_ , hurt you because of _me_ , and everything I did was because of _me_ , to try and make things right.

“I slipped away from Yixing when he was distracted in the fight and I tricked Ten so that I could go off to find Seungyoun by myself. I acted exactly how I knew he’d expect me to, and when he thought he’d won, I . . . I killed him. I thought that’d be enough, but it _wasn’t_ , and I— Icouldn’t let Jongin die — you all needed _him_ , this city, this kingdom— he was too important to _lose_.”

“You think you’re not?” Jongin rasped, his eyes rimmed red. “Losing you, it—“

“It broke us, Yong.”Taeyong couldn’t bring himself to meet Mark’s gaze as he spoke, because he could hear the pain there, the anguish — pain he’d caused, even if that’d never been his intention. He’d thought that things would be better by now and that they all would’ve started to move on from what’d happened, but the picture he’d returned to was far from perfect.

“When I felt myself dying, I used all the power I could muster to try and protect you all.”

“The white flames? They wiped out everything,” Baekhyun muttered into his bottle. “There was no one left to fight, but all of our men were untouched.”

“Good,” Taeyong breathed. “I passed out — died — and when I woke up . . . time works differently, there, where the fae live. There’s perhaps a week I can’t account for based on what Yuta told me, before he found me lying in the forest; he took me back to his home and cared for me until I woke up even before he knew who I was. For a few days, I couldn’t even tell him what my name was, but he was patient and kind and made sure I knew I was safe. It took weeks before I could remember everything.”

It’d been utterly terrifying to wake up somewhere foreign and unfamiliar with no proper memory to go off, not even recollection of his own name or where he’d come from, just flashes of faces and voices that he’d struggled to piece together. Despite how frustrating it must have been Yuta had never gotten angry or annoyed when he couldn’t answer his questions. The fact that he’d helped him without ever knowing who he was was the sole reason that Taeyong had trusted him with the truth when he’d actually been able to remember it.

“Yuta was a royal guard. When I told him who I actually was he was . . . shocked, to say the least, but he believed me. Turns out he’d met my birth mother on occasion.” Hearing that he looked like a woman that he’d never actually met had been hard to really process, if just because at first he hadn’t known what to think about it. He had no recollection of her, didn’t remember her dying, her face, her voice — to be told you resembled someone you’d never truly met was an odd feeling, something he still didn’t know what he felt about. 

“Was a guard? He doesn’t look very old.”

“Mm,” the white-haired male hummed gently. “Think of it like Taemin — fae age very slowly past a certain point. Yuta is still considered rather young for a fae, but he’s nearly a hundred years old; he was an apprentice back then, but until a few years ago he told me he was a member of the guard, until he . . . resigned.” More like kicked out, but Yuta’s story wasn’t his to tell. “He taught me about their world and helped me get control over my magic now that it’s so much stronger, and he took me into the city when I was ready. I’m not really sure what I expected. Some of them hated me and saw me as little more than a human because I knew nothing of their customs and had been raised by humans, but so many of them . . . I felt like I belonged,” he admitted.

“I told them that I wouldn’t be staying and that they’d have to decide a new ruler for themselves, because I didn’t want it.”

“Taeyong,” Mark murmured, brows furrowing, and Taeyong didn’t blame him for looking surprised. “You’ve always wanted—“

“To be someone? I suppose. But I had everything I could ever want waiting for me at home and I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be; you see, it _just so happens_ I already swore myself to someone, so I couldn’t swear myself to a kingdom.”

“Still— you’re supposed to be a king, Taeyong, why would you come back when you could have everything?”

“I don’t want _everything_.” Taeyong couldn’t help that his voice grew a little sharper, pain feathering at the edges. “You should know that. It’s not _me_. All I want is this. Us. You.”

“How did you get back?” Baekhyun interjected to try and subdue some of the tension that thickened in the air. Taeyong’s eyes flickered across the trio before he forced his shoulders to relax, magic wanting nothing more than to crackled up to the surface, and it took him a moment to get it back under control. He was but a child by fae standards, and now that there was no restraint to his power it was _difficult_ , to say the least, to keep it in check. It’d been easier back there where everyone was on equal ground, but he was hyperaware now of how one wrong step could hurt someone. 

“It’s not easy to travel between dimensions,” Taeyong chuckled weakly, the energy inside him curling into a calmer stream — the best way he could visualise it was like some sort of animal, finally relenting and placating as it settled down to preen itself rather than clawing at it’s constraints. “There are portals there but they’re heavily guarded and you have to put in an application that can take a long time to be approved — I wanted to come home, but they deemed there as my home. Yuta may or may not have helped me break in so that I could get through.”

“And he came through, too? Why wouldn’t he stay with his people?” 

Taeyong had to heavily consider his answer for that one.

“Yuta _used_ to be a royal guard, but he didn’t agree with the politics that were unfolding in the capital, and they didn’t really approve of him either, so he . . . left. When he found out who I am he insisted on serving me, even if I hold no title.” He could see the way that Baekhyun arched an eyebrow, smile a little bittersweet before he took another swig, and Taeyong instantly cursed himself. “I— _no_. He swore himself to me but— that doesn’t sound any better, does it? It’s not like _that_ ,” Taeyong was quick to insist, perhaps a little stressed. “Yuta is my friend, but _trust me_ , if anything he sees me as a child to babysit; he has his own reasons for wanting to help me and for wanting to leave that place. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course we do, Taeyong,” Jongin promised, finally caving and wrapping an around his waist from where he sat beside him, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “Besides, Baekhyun isn’t one to talk.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, _Your Majesty?_ ”

“You know what it means, _Ambassador—_ “

“Hyung!” Mark snapped, voice sharp and far more firm than Taeyong was used to hearing from the dark-haired male, especially when it came to Jongin, or Baekhyun for that matter. Taeyong had known that something was wrong but he’d hoped it was something minor — seeing this, it was starting to become clear that was far from the case. How had things gone so wrong in his absence?

“Now’s not the time for you to be biting each other’s heads off. Taeyong is _home_. Can’t you both just put your egos aside for one day? Jongin, you _know_ Baekhyun wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure,” Jongin snorted against the material of his shirt, more like a child clutching a toy than anything and Taeyong, he didn’t like it particularly. It was why he reached out once he wiggled one arm free to set a hand on Baekhyun’s knee, trying to read him as best he could, eyes soft and warm. “He’s just spending time in the northern kingdom for fun, right?”

“I’ve been giving you _space_ , you royal pain in my ass—“

“Baekhyun,” Taeyong interjected, looking lost and surprised, perhaps a little hurt too — the words weren’t directed at him, but seeing them all bicker like this, throwing insults and insinuations like the aim was to see how much they could hurt the other, it was painful to witness. “Come on, I think you’ve drunk enough, hyung. Yeah?” Baekhyun’s eyes were burning and his jaw was clenched in a way that seemed almost painful but after a few moments he did hand over the almost empty bottle. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re all at each other’s throats and no one else is here? I know Taemin wanders sometimes, but Ten and Lucas too? The way you’re acting . . . did something happen?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Jongin mumbled. Taeyong could tell from the look on Mark’s face that that was _not_ the case. “Taemin’s doing what he does best, being anywhere but here. Lucas forced Ten to break his seal during the battle and no one’s seen him since, Ten ran off claiming it was his job to find him and wouldn’t let anyone else help, but he probably just wanted an excuse to leave, too.”

“Ten would never do that,” Baekhyun bit back before Mark set a hand on his arm, expression a little tired but almost pleading, like this had happened so many times and he didn’t want to have to deal with it again. Slowly, Taeyong was starting to piece everything together.

“What seal?” Taeyong forced himself to ask as he tried to process everything being thrown his way, a dull throbbing forming in his temples that he was pointedly trying to ignore for as long as he could; probably a result of all the crying and his concerns. “I saw what happened, but I don’t know what it was. Lucas just . . . it was like he changed to something else, right before my eyes.”

“There was a reason Lucas was so scared of Kai,” Mark explained reluctantly. “It’s not the same, not really, but seeing Jongin have another side of himself that he couldn’t control, it reminded him of himself. It’s a long story, Taeyong, and I think Ten is the only one who knows _all_ of it, but when we met Lucas he wasn’t the same as he is now. I’m sure you’ve noticed how . . . strong he is.” Truly, that great sword he’d always wielded had seemed rather heavy. “That when he does get angry, he has quite the temper. He was born with a curse that’s . . . it’s tricky to explain, but it draws on malevolent energy, something incredibly different to what Ten and Taemin use — it’s harder to control.

“He was always terrified of it and it didn’t help that it seemed to be much harder for him to resist whenever strong emotions were involved. Lucas _was_ dealing with it, until he lost control one night.”

“You mean . . .”

“Yeah. Things got too intense and he blacked out. Ten’s always especially careful about hiding his scars, more so around Lucas than anyone, because even though most are from his magic there’s a few that he got that night. Even T _aemin_ had trouble subduing him; when he gets like that . . . I don’t know — you saw it, right? He’s a force of nature.”

“I did.”

“Lucas _begged_ them to find a way to seal it away no matter what it took and they did, in the end.”

“He didn’t really give them much of a choice,” Jongin spoke up as he finally unwound himself ever so slightly. “He was so scared of himself, he even tried to cut away his birthmark. I guess he thought maybe doing that would get rid of it?We had to watch him twenty-four-seven to make sure he didn’t hurt himself or . . . try anything stupid.”

“He was so scared to even touch anyone,” Baekhyun murmured, barely even audible. “He’d spent so much time alone and so scared of touch that he was starved for it, with us — he’d hoped he could control it but when he realised he couldn’t he wouldn’t let himself ask for _anything_ , would rip himself away if anyone even tried to comfort him. He finally got so tired that he didn’t fight it when I played with his hair and he cried for hours until he fell asleep.”

“He was better, after,” Mark reassured. “Ten did an incredible job with the seal and we never had a problem.”

“But he made Ten break it, because he thought we were losing.” There was a sinking feeling in Taeyong’s stomach, weightless in a way that wasn’t good, not at all, the sort that made bile rise up in the back of his throat. “Couldn’t he just . . . reseal him?”

“He’d have to catch him first,” Mark pointed out, “and Lucas isn’t dumb — like that, he wouldn’t want to be caught. Then, to seal him, he’d need lots of power, power he borrowed from Taemin the first time, and even then it’s not definite. Ten said he’d probably never be able to recreate it.” Taeyong swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. Gods, he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“If I’d told him, if he’d known there was a chance—“

“You can’t blame yourself, Taeyong.”

“The past is the past,” the white-haired male reluctantly murmured, trying to repeat those mantras that Yuta had fed him on the nights he’d been plagued by nightmares and writhed and screamed in his bed. “We can’t do anything to change it, even if we wish we could, but we can change the future.” They were proof enough of that. 

“I’m tired — how about we have dinner together. That sounds nice, right? Then, tomorrow, we can talk about what we’re going to do.”

“What do you mean?” Jongin asked.

“I’d do anything for all of you. You think that’s changed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _/Places like these were cursed, after all._
> 
> _They made his blood sing._
> 
> _It never truly seemed to be daytime here for even in the lighter hours the sun was obscured by dark clouds that never quite seemed to move, yet tonight the full moon just barely peeked through some of the sparser edges, spilling more light down through the hollow canopy of the forest than usual._
> 
> _This place, the full moon . . . there was no better opportunity for what he had planned./_


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the longest time, Taemin had never cared for anyone other than himself. He'd never been able to fathom the idea that one day he'd be willing to do anything for someone - even die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter threeeeeee
> 
> I know that things have been angsty, but they will get better ksksksk
> 
> potential TW:  
> \- lack of self-worth  
> \- a character being willing to die  
> \- mild talk of toxic relationships/manipulation/gaslighting. Very mild, just people hurting

Taemin had his fair share of regrets over the expanse of his existence, but _nothing_ could compare to the mistake he’d made that night when he’d agreed to Taeyong’s deal; in hindsight, if he’d known what Taeyong would require of him he never would’ve agreed in the first place, but the other had known that before he’d even asked.

He’d always said that Taeyong was far too good for a twisted world such as their own yet he . . . he couldn’t be disgusted or feel betrayed because of what he’d done because, in the end, it was exactly what Taemin would’ve done himself. What scared him most wasn’t just that he was terrified by the prospect of the other becoming like _him_ , but another part of his consciousness craved it — wanted to taint him, make his soul bear that same darkness that his own was stained by. 

Taeyong had been too compassionate from the start, to the point that he’d been willing to die to try and keep them all together. What he hadn’t considered was the resulting consequences, or what it’d do to them, to lose him.

Taemin couldn’t blame them for their anger — couldn’t blame Jongin for harsh words thrown his way, words that cut to the bone and burrowed down into the darkest recesses of his soul, nor the way that Ten had looked at him with an overwhelming sort of betrayal; the way that Mark hadn’t looked at him at all.

He deserved it all, no matter the mark it had left on him.

There wasn’t a reality in which he ever would’ve wanted to leave their side yet he’d come to realise it wasn’t a choice, but rather a necessity. No one would heal with, if they could, with his face to gaze upon each day — a constant reminder of what they’d lost. Ten had gone first, not even twenty-four hours after they’d lost _him_ , sneaking away in the night after asking Taemin if he could tell where Lucas was through their bond. If he’d been able to give an answer, he would’ve, but the darkness that Lucas had succumbed to was far more potent than the magic which bound them. It was like it had been . . . not cut, because at times he could still feel that small tug which pained him, but certainly their connection had been subdued.

He’d never imagined that any human would ever hold so much power over him, yet Jongin screaming for him to get out of his sight was something that would be ingrained in the forefront of his consciousness for the rest of his miserable existence.

It’d never mattered if he’d made mistakes, before, no matter the gravity of the consequences; if people died or kingdoms fell, it was of no matter to him — just a minor setback. This time, it _mattered_.

They couldn’t go on like this.

Taemin had tried more times than he could ever begin to remember to find a way to bring Taeyong back to them, and truthfully there was no limit to the lengths he was willing to go to achieve that. There was no price he could put on the life of the man he loved, even his own. Yet each time he’d failed, over and over.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months.

Each day that passed he grew weaker, and he knew something had to give; either he needed to succeed, or he needed to find another way to feed _properly_. Without his lovers there was now little he could do to recover the energy he was expelling each time he tried a new ritual. After all, he was bound to them now. There was no way for him to draw sustenance even from someone who was willing, not when they were all his body would accept. Perhaps he’d been a fool for allowing humans control of him like this, yet even now Taemin didn’t regret it, even though he was sure he now knew what it felt like to have his heart torn from his chest; the faded section of the sigil on his chest still ached often, a reminder of the excruciating pain he’d been subjected to the moment Taeyong had died. 

He needed to bring Taeyong back to them.

It’d been weeks since Taemin had encountered another living being, and in this forest even the birds ceased their chirping — there was no movement in the underbrush, a chill to the air despite the season, not so much as the faintest caress of a breeze. Everything was deathly still, deathly quiet. Dead, yet so alive with energy, albeit malicious. 

It’d been a long time since he’d dared step foot in a place like this, somewhere where worlds almost conjoined, spilling into each other.

Places like these were cursed, after all. 

They made his blood sing.

It never truly seemed to be daytime here for even in the lighter hours the sun was obscured by dark clouds that never quite seemed to move, yet tonight the full moon just barely peeked through some of the sparser edges, spilling more light down through the hollow canopy of the forest than usual. 

This place, the full moon . . . there was no better opportunity for what he had planned. 

Taemin seldom hid his true nature these days, though that didn’t mean he took any semblance of pride in it. Dark, oil-slick feathers were ragged and dishevelled from months of neglect. He couldn’t bring himself to fix them up even if it meant pinches here and there where feathers were caught and uncomfortable, not when the last time he’d felt hands on his wings had been that night, a night that still haunted him. Pleasant memories drowning in tragedy.

His wings spread out as he knelt down on the dry earth, small rocks digging into his knees and the chill of the air permeating into the skin of his chest, bared to the elements. Four candles lay in front of him, flames barely flickering even as he moved, and in the middle of the circle he made was a small, silver bowl, empty save for the dagger resting on top. 

Taemin had removed all of the clothes on his top half, any accessories (not that he bothered with anything much these days) and had only left a thin pair of threadbare pants on his legs, everything folded off to the side with his shoes on top. The only thing he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with was the cuff on his right wrist, blue stone encrusted in gold. Once upon a time, Jongin had gifted it to him with a smile, asked him to stay by his side forever. Now it felt like he wasn’t even worthy of wearing it. Nonetheless, it was all he had left of him. 

This was a last resort, something dark and unholy — sacrilegious, even, something that had not been done for many years, but Taemin was nothing if not a man with nothing to lose.

Deals with the devil rarely ended well.

Truthfully, his father was more likely to kill him than grant him any sort of aid, but he was desperate. 

There was no tremble to his hands as he raised the dagger from its resting placed and brought it closer, metal gleaming in the candlelight. No fear of what was to come, even as the tip was placed a few inches below his clavicle and began to bite into his skin, dark blood trickling down his chest as he carved a neat line down to just below his sternum. There was silence, save for the sound of his blood dripping into the ceremonial bowl.

“I know you can hear me,” he finally spoke, head already spinning as he struggled to keep himself upright and kneeling. He was so low on energy already that the spell was draining him beyond anything he’d ever dared allow. “I can feel you lingering in the shadows, Asmodeous, waiting for me to summon you. I know you’ve been waiting for me to cave; no human body can contain you, but me . . .”

Wind whistled through the trees.

Taemin was quickly losing grip, struggling to maintain control of his magic as he continued to fuel the link, to cultivate enough energy so that he could open the gateway. He couldn’t afford to fail, but he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen a little until he realised his arms were trembling, barely keeping him off the ground as his vision blurred. “You must swear to one thing, you have to . . . his soul . . .”

The last thought that crossed his mind as he lost consciousness was that he’d failed again. He hadn’t even been able to fully commence the ritual.

When Taemin opened his eyes, he was laying on his back, wings spread out and his head pillowed on something incredibly soft. For a moment his eyes struggled to adjust as the exhaustion struggled to pull him back under, and the fingers threading gently through his hair as a soft lullaby filled the space around him was enough to make his eyes almost close once more.

“This is beyond dark magic, Taemin.”

Taemin squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a bitter laugh, chest burning — not just from the wound there, which had barely healed due to his depleted reserves. Maybe it was time to finally just let himself fade. After all, he’d _failed_. He doubted he’d even have the strength to leave this place, now. At least if things ended, he’d no longer be haunted by the ghost that came to him every night. This was not the first night he’d dreamed of Taeyong, but . . . he hoped it’d be the last.

“I went beyond dark magic months ago,” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed for now and just allowing himself to pretend this was real. “My father is evil incarnate. Releasing him on this world would be . . . in my body, he would be unstoppable, but you’d be back.”

Dream-Taeyong’s breath hitched and those fingers stopped in his hair. 

“Your father?” Dream-Taeyong didn’t usually play dumb — he was just another piece of his consciousness, though, both an escape from his reality and a jailer, a constant reminder of his shortcomings, his failures. “Gods, you . . . they need you, Taemin — they can’t do this without you.”

“They need _you_ ,” Taemin corrected with a weak chuckle, something that turned into a spluttering cough as he quickly rolled himself out of the other’s grip and let crimson splatter out onto the soil. His whole body ached in protest, limbs shaking, but Dream-Taeyong guided him to sit up; even just his touch made it easier.

“And that’s worth your soul, is it?”

“What soul? There’s nothing in me but shadows and cobwebs, Taeyong.”

Finally, he forced his own gaze upwards. Taeyong looked . . . tonight he looked so alive, rather than the bloodied apparition he sometimes saw, or the sweet, doe-eyed boy he was often haunted by, but he also looked so incredibly _sad_. “You have a soul, hyung,” the other murmured so incredibly softly, reaching out to caress his cheek ever so gently before fingers trailed down to rest over his heart, sigil heating under his palm. “It’s the brightest soul I’ve ever seen. Like a star.”

Taemin couldn’t bring himself to care about the tears trickling down his cheeks, expression a barely veiled mask of simultaneous numbness and agony. “I’m so tired, Taeyong.”

“I know,” Taeyong whispered. “I know. Get some rest, hyung, but you have to come home to them, okay? To us. Will you promise me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” he answered croakily, letting Taeyong dab away the blood on his chin before he guided him to lay back down, pillowed in his lap and fingers petting his hair.

“I know.” Feline eyes fluttered shut, his consciousness fading once again just as lips pressed against his own.

If that was to be his last dream . . . he could be content.

-

When Jongin woke up, Mark was still fast asleep beside him, drool dying on the corner of his open mouth and hair sticking up in every possible direction. It was a sight he’d had each and every morning, yet it was something he’d rarely allowed himself to savour — perhaps it was his way of punishing himself, like Baekhyun had once snapped, the way he’d pushed everyone away.

Punishing himself was one thing, but he’d been so fucking selfish not to realise the pain he’d been inflicting on those he loved in the process.

No matter the anger that still bubbled up under his skin it’d been hard to see just how rough Baekhyun looked right now. He’d heard, of course, about his . . . habit. He’d be deaf not to. Jongin was no saint to judge the elder for the fact he’d turned to alcohol to soothe his sorrows, especially not when he’d done his fair share of drinking, but even last night, when things had been calmer and they’d all shared a dinner he’d lost track of the number of cups Baekhyun downed before he retired. 

Jongin had wanted nothing more than for them to all curl up into bed together like they once had. He _ached_ to be held, to hold _them_. For things to go back to how they had been.

But there was such an obvious gap whenever they were together; it wasn’t to say anyone was lacking, other than perhaps himself, but it was so tangible, that empty space that couldn’t be filled by anything— no, _anyone_ else. Even Yuta’s presence at the table had been a sore substitute despite the fact it’d meant one less empty seat.

Jongin reached out to gently trace his fingers over Mark’s cheek, caressing the soft skin and working his way down to wipe away the drool there, eyes softening. Mark looked so young and carefree like this compared to the hardened warrior who’d kept him from going under the past few months — as he should always look. 

That, too, was his fault.

It’d been so clear yesterday just how much Mark had missed Baekhyun even if he never dared mention it to him, probably for fear of upsetting him, which hell, if that didn’t make him feel like an absolute dickhead then nothing else did. He’d once promised the younger that he could always talk to him about anything. He’d ask when things changed, but they all knew.

And then there was Taeyong. Taeyong, who’d done so much, gone through so much to come back to them, and what he’d come back to was . . . this. His home in shambles. Half of them missing. At least he’d been able to say Ten was off finding Lucas, but Taemin, gods, he had no idea where the elder had gone. Even thinking about him made his chest ache.

_/“Don’t pretend like you care,” Jongin spat, shoving at the other’s chest even though he didn’t budge. He shoved again, but Taemin didn’t flinch or pull away, didn’t even tell him to stop. No matter what he did, he wouldn’t just . . . fight back, and all Jongin wanted was for him to be as angry, to yell and scream and make his own rage valid._

_“Jongin,” he started, but Jongin shoved him even harder, finally making him stumble, chest heaving with the effort._

_“Don’t,” the silver-haired male seethed, eyes burning. “You have no right. You might as well have killed him with your own hands.”_

_It’d felt so good in the moment to see Taemin_ hurt _./_

Mark let out a small grumble that was completely unintelligible and snuggled closer to his hand, nuzzling into it like a content cat as he seemed to come to. Even as his eyes slowly fluttered open and focused he didn’t move away, just watched him. He looked so happy, and it . . . it made Jongin _hurt_. 

He was supposed to be a leader, but everything had been thrust onto Mark’s shoulders for months. Not just the kingdom, but _him_.

“I love you,” he whispered in a tone that just for the two of them in that moment before leaning forward to press their lips together. It was soft, softer than anything they’d shared in a long time, but it felt so right, and it was certainly worth it for the way that Mark completely relaxed and let out a pleased little noise.

“I love you too, hyung.”

There was no rush to any of it, just a pleasant warmth that settled in the air as their lips caressed, teeth and tongues tentative in their moments — everything was slow as though they were savouring each and every moment rather than desperately taking everything they could get in the moment. There was no _urgency_ like everything was going to be torn away from them without a moment’s notice.

“The bed feels so empty,” Jongin found himself admitting in a moment of weakness as Mark idly traced fingers over his torso and kissed his jaw. The motions paused, for a moment.

“I . . . I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Neither do I,” he murmured as he captured Mark’s hand and brought it up to grace his knuckles with butterfly pecks, eyes closed. 

Baekhyun had retired to his old room last night before any of them could say anything, obviously preferring his own company, and Taeyong had stayed with them for a while longer before claiming he was going to go to bed. In his own room, he’d assumed, though when he’d passed it was empty — perhaps he’d slept in Baekhyun’s room, after all. 

It wasn’t jealousy, per se, he just didn’t know how to feel about it. Part of him wanted to be in there too, and the other part that’d caused all this trouble wanted . . . well, he wasn’t sure anymore, actually. Usually, it was such a strong insistence in the back of his mind yet this morning his mind was silent, free of all that turmoil that usually haunted his dreams, too. It felt so oddly peaceful, something that was so incredibly foreign to him nowadays. 

“None of this even feels real.” He forced his eyes to open again when Mark spoke, the edges of his lips rising ever so slightly. Lips grazed his own once more before that warm body was pulling away — he was half tempted to reach out and drag him back into the folds of the sheets, but there was sun streaming through the windows already and he knew they couldn’t hide here forever. 

“Why don’t you go and wake everyone up, Mark?”

“But hyung—“

“—I’ll be down in a few minutes, promise,” Jongin cut him off as he forced himself to brush blankets aside and roll out of bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had energy in the morning, though he couldn’t deny there was still that urge to hide away in his bed rather than face the day like he knew he had to. 

“Are you sure?” Mark was always by his side, always looking out for him, and whilst Jongin couldn’t deny it was a comfort he’d taken advantage of for so long, he couldn’t keep doing this; Mark was his own man, and he couldn’t allow his own selfishness to cloud that anymore. 

“Very,” he promised as he opened his closet. Tried not to think about how pathetic it was that he’d barely been capable of dressing himself for months — that even now as he brushed his hand through the clothes inside it felt foreign. “You’re relieved of your duties, today . . . have some fun.”

“Thank you, Jongin.”

Jongin had never been fond of being left to his own devices, not when it meant that the treacherous thoughts that thrived in the darkest parts of his mind often started clawing their way to the surface, but it was bearable; he could do this, if not for himself then for Mark, for Taeyong . . . perhaps even for Baekhyun.

He _knew_ he’d been out of line last night before the words had even escaped his lips. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, but that was exactly it — he hadn’t. Jongin had been acting purely on pain. He _knew_ it was his fault for pushing Baekhyun away time and time again when all the elder had ever done was try to help him no matter his own suffering, and once he’d done it, succeeded, he’d let himself blame Baekhyun for it — on the surface, at least. The truth was, he didn’t blame any of them for what had happened . . . not even Taemin, not really.

Maybe they all could’ve done things better, but in the end, it’d been him that Taeyong had died for.

Jongin cursed as his fingers fumbled over another clasp and frustration bubbled up inside him. “Breathe,” the silver-haired male reminded himself as he inhaled deeply, counted to three and then let out a carefully measured exhale; he tried again, managing to clip the clasp together before his hands fell away and the material stayed put over his skin. 

In an ideal world, Taeyong returning to them would magically fix everything, but he wasn’t disillusioned enough to think this would ever be an ideal world. Jongin wasn’t sure if he could ever be the man he once had — the one they wanted, the one that’d died when he had. Jongin would pretend for as long as he could.

A cooler breeze wafted into the room from the open balcony (Mark had opened them before he’d left as he always did, claiming that fresh air did them good) and sent a small wave of goosebumps brushing over forearms, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. For a moment, Jongin just stood facing the wardrobe. A faint whisper of rustling feathers reached his ears and he swallowed thickly as his fingers curled into pale fists, more to keep himself grounded than anything — he already knew what he’d see if his eyes flickered to the mirror a few feet to his right, and so he didn’t look.

“Your Majesty,” a familiar voice spoke up quietly, voice hoarse yet free of anything that could possibly allude to what he was feeling. It’d been a long time since such a tone had ever been used for him. 

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Jongin admitted as he forced himself to inhale and turn on his heel. It took everything in him to muster up some semblance of strength — to square his shoulders and hold his head high when all he wanted to do was slump forward.

It’d been five months since he’d seen Taemin, and he looked . . . he looked so different from the man in his memories. The most noticeable alteration to his appearance was his hair, once an ash-blond which was now as dark as his feathers and hung over his face without any sort of care; it made him look younger, yet also more haggard, somehow. Once golden feline eyes now held a stronger resemblance to his wings, too, darker than he’d ever seen them with dark circles hanging under his eyes that only accentuated it all. His face was sharper, a little more gaunt.

Taemin looked exhausted, even as he stood on his balcony.

Gone were the gallant clothing and air of superiority — in that sense, Taemin appeared more human than ever despite his wings. No longer unreachable like some far off star. 

“Neither did I. You told me to never show my face here again.”

“I—“ Jongin cut himself off before he could raise his voice, biting down onto his tongue until a metallic tang reached his taste buds. _Breathe_. “I said a lot of things. What did you . . . what do you need?”

“I wanted to visit his garden, with your permission.” Jongin wanted to argue that Taemin didn’t need his permission, but as much as he hated it he knew why the other had come to ask him, first, and he refused to let his emotions get the better of him again. Taeyong deserved this, even if he didn’t.

“You have my permission, Taemin, there’ll always be a place for you here.” Taemin’s eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly. A faint chip in the mask. 

“Thank you.” Before the elder could turn around completely, no doubt planning to simply jump down off the balcony and be on his way, Jongin found himself reaching out to set a hand on the other’s wrist and stop him. 

“Let me walk you down.” Jongin didn’t quite pose it as a question, but it was no command, either — a stunted request at best. An uncomfortable silence filled the air for a few short moments before the dark-haired male nodded and turned away from the balcony doors. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to say the things that needed to be said yet, but this was the first step, and he could do this.

Even as they walked through the halls he found himself wondering how the hell he was supposed to even broach the subject of Taeyong, especially when he knew firsthand how it was such a touchy subject. Then there was the matter of timing — was it truly a coincidence that Taemin had arrived here after such an extended period of separation? Gods, Jongin wanted nothing more than to ask.

At this hour, he’d expected everyone to be at breakfast. He’d _assumed_ that he’d have more time to try and find a way to bring up the situation.

Jongin had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed they’d stepped into the garden until Taemin visibly froze beside him, looking like a startled dear staring down a hunter’s bow, even down to that fear and disbelief that shone through his gaze. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen Taemin truly crumble, and after losing Taeyong he’d thought that it was something he’d never experience again.

He knew even as he followed the elder’s gaze what the only thing that could incite such a reaction was. Facing away from them, kneeling on the garden and tending to the flowers surrounding the base of a now-flowering hawthorn which had been bare the previous evening, white hair the same shade as the flowers drifting down around him. A few feet away, sitting and watching, was Yuta, the odd fae who seemed to follow him everywhere. 

Even for Jongin, it was a jarring sight — he couldn’t imagine what it was like for Taemin.

Neither of them got a chance to speak up before Taeyong set down the small cup in his hand and turned to look at them over his shoulder. There was no surprise on his features even as he took in Taemin’s presence, just a warm smile which filled his face as he pushed himself up off the ground and brushed off his knees before starting towards them. Jongin stayed put even as he watched Taemin take shaky steps forward, ignoring the urge to steady him.

It was agonising to observe the way Taemin dropped to his knees only a foot or two before Taeyong as though he was unable to keep himself standing any longer; not that it seemed to matter, because as soon as Taeyong closed the difference he was wrapping his arms around the younger and burying his face against his stomach as fingers came up to card through his hair. 

“The dream—“

“When has a dream ever been _just_ a dream?” Taeyong reminded him as his own eyes watered a little. Jongin couldn’t bring himself to interfere so he simply stayed back where he was, keeping an eye on Yuta since the other had stood when Taemin had approached. “You’ve pushed yourself so hard, hyung — it’s not easy to transfer energy during a dream, you should’ve taken your time coming home.”

“When I woke up . . .” he managed in a ragged voice, finally looking up.

“I know,” the white-haired male soothed as he dropped down to his own knees a little more gracefully, tucking himself against Taemin and rubbing a hand over the space between his wings. “Are you happy you did?”

Jongin watched as Taemin just nodded. He was so complacent in the way he let Taeyong press a soft kiss to his lips, yet even Jongin could see the change. Magic . . . gods, it never ceased to amaze him. On one hand, it was incredible to see the way that Taemin seemed to come alive under his touch, colour returning to his skin and the dullness to his form fading to something much healthier — his eyes, even, no longer dark pits but holding a luminescence to them. 

On the other, it was harrowing to realise that Taemin’s sorry state had been because he’d had no way to feed — to realise that too was _his_ doing.

_/“I’d only be able to feed from you . . .”/_

Jongin hadn’t even thought of that, when he’d sent him away — hadn’t thought of the power he held over him.

He was torn from his realisations by the sound of a pained hiss and the sight of Taemin clutching his head as Taeyong held him with an apologetic frown. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure it would work, but I thought . . .”

“It’s fine,” Taemin breathed. 

“What was that?” Jongin asked, taking a step forward

“Taeyong told me how he knew of a witch and warlock who could communicate telepathically,” Yuta spoke up from where he was leaning against the trunk of the tree and watching on, “it’s rare, even if there’s not many cases to study. I taught him the basics, just in case it might work.”

“Pictures. Memories. I didn’t realise how much would rush through, hyung,” Taeyong apologise even as Taemin brushed it off. He already looked so much healthier, less like some sort of walking corpse, though he seemed wary of—

Ah, Yuta. Of course.

“Don’t worry, if I wanted you dead you already would be,” Yuta spoke as though he could sense it — hell, maybe he could, Jongin had no fucking clue how these people worked — and grinned. Even though it was a smile it gave nothing away.

“Yuta,” Taeyong appeared to scold. 

“You know I’m not going to hurt your demon, though I do have _lots of questions_ for him—“

“Later.”

“Later,” Yuta agreed as though it were that simple. Taemin still looked wary and confused, but Jongin could see flickers of realisation. Just what had Taeyong managed to do with him? They’d mentioned Jongdae and Yixing’s little trick, but it seemed to be something different than that — was it only possible because of their heritage?

“You looked out for him,” Taemin spoke slowly as though he was recalling a memory.

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll answer any questions you have—“

“Taemin?” A voice shouted. Jongin barely had time to register the blur that flew past him before Mark was crashing into the pair on the ground, shooting rapid-fire questions and begging the other not to leave again, barely even breathing as words continued to fall from his lips. To his merit, Taemin just took it in stride and raised an arm to tuck the other in close as well.

Jongin forced his gaze away and met Baekhyun’s, who’d just emerged from one of the halls; they stared at each other for a second before Jongin turned and headed out of the courtyard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _Ten held back a wince. Unfortunately, even if Lucas had no semblance of control over himself, he wasn’t so blessed as to forget what happened when he was like this. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering that the man he’d get back would be, if he’d be a man at all, if he could manage to save him. He wanted to say he’d die before ever considering what Lucas had suggested that night yet the horrors he’d heard of on his search . . . part of him wondered what would be kindest for Lucas. The idea of him having to come to terms with the monstrosities which his own hands had caused over the last six months made Ten wonder whether death would truly be kinder._


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations are made as Taeyong and the others plan to depart, and across the ocean Ten struggles to keep up with his runaway lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy with uni work but I've also been writing,,, so much, because I have so much muse. Is it really a surprise that this fic has already gotten away from me? AhHHHH I hope you all don't mind if it's a little lengthy, though maybe not as much as ALW? I have no idea honestly;;  
> I know this chapter is . . . uh, a lot of angst. But I hope it gives you all some closure in the sense of letting you know everyone's current state. Things will get better.
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- mentions of alcoholism  
> \- graphic gore/blood
> 
> [ _Lao_ \- a prefix used to indicate someone older]

Ten had never been happier to set his feet on solid ground.

His hands shifted to adjust his hood and make sure it was covering his face a little better before handing over the pouch at his side — there was no point counting through to try and save himself some money, not when he’d been on his last dregs for weeks. At least what he’d had remaining was enough to get him across the ocean. Ten doubted he’d have to worry about another cross-ocean voyage for a while. 

This had always been Lucas’s destination from the start, after all, even if it’d taken him a little while to realise that.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the man whose ship he’d come across on grumbled as he tucked the bag into his pockets. That was it. Ten knew they’d been reluctant to take him on from the first glance but he’d had money and jewellery, and no doubt they’d been trying to make a pretty penny before the end of the season. 

Ten knew many languages, but that didn’t mean that he’d necessarily set foot there before — this place was foreign to him no matter how many nights Lucas had whispered to him about his homeland. He’d hoped that one day they’d visit it together. He had gotten his wish, but he’d never wanted it to be like _this_. They existed in the same space yet Ten had never felt so alone, even before he’d met them; at least before he’d never known what it was to love and be loved, to have someone to rely on no matter what. It’d made him _soft_.

The people here looked at him as he passed, though it was only as much as they’d look at any stranger, a cocktail of wariness and curiosity flitting across their features as Ten walked through the seaside port he’d landed in, thick accents that took some effort deciphering flowing in the air around him. Practising with Lucas over the years had perfected his own pronunciation but he’d known that different areas would have different dialects. 

It was easy to force himself to blend in, moving between the stalls like just another traveller and idly looking at things he knew he could not afford. Ten’s stomach gave a pitiful grumble when he passed an older woman spooning a delicious looking mix into bowls. Food was not what was on his mind right now, though — right now he was focusing on the words he could hear, sifting through tangled conversations to desperately search for a glimpse of hope, any hint as to where to start. He’d only been a day behind Lucas at most but there’d been a small storm cell at sea that’d set him back another two or three; it didn’t seem like a long time, but with what he was dealing with . . . even an hour made all the difference.

He’d follow Lucas to the ends of the earth if that was what it took.

“ . . . crazy, I’ve never seen anything like it — a whole herd torn to shreds.”

“A bear?”

“That’s what I said until I saw it for myself. They were all impaled on stakes.”

Ten’s stomach twisted yet he worked his way through the bustling crowd until he was closer to the two men talking, head ducked down and hands checking over small, rough-skinned red fruits that sat in the basket before him. 

“Was it only the one farm?”

“Yes, but it was all in one night, and it made think about what happened at Lao-Zhou’s two nights ago.”

“The dogs?” Ten held back a wince. Unfortunately, even if Lucas had no semblance of control over himself, he wasn’t so blessed as to forget what happened when he was like this. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering that the man he’d get back would be, if he’d be a man at all, if he could manage to save him. He wanted to say he’d die before ever considering what Lucas had suggested that night, yet the horrors he’d heard of on his search . . . part of him wondered what would be kindest for Lucas. The idea of him having to come to terms with the monstrosities which his own hands had caused over the last six months made Ten wonder whether death would truly be kinder.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do when he found him. 

“Yeah. I mean, they were strung up like . . . do you think it could be connected?”

“No man could kill that many in one night, Weizhe.”

“A man, probably not, but a _wangliang—_ “

Ten’s brows drew together and he tuned them out, moving to set down the fruit in his hand before weathered fingers settled over his own and closed them around the few in his palm. His eyes shot up.

“Lychees.”

“I have no money—“

“You’ll need them, for your journey,” the blind woman rasped as those clouded eyes bore into his own, corners heavily wrinkled from years of smiles such as the one she now gave him. She squeezed his hand once more before pulling back.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he took in her tattered clothes. Perhaps he had no money, but . . . Ten reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small lump of stone, making sure no one was watching before he drew on his reserves and pushed energy into the rock — red tendrils tangled around it before it shimmered, melting into shining silver ore which he tucked into her palm. “For payment.”

“Be careful who sees your tricks.” Ten froze, focusing on her unseeing eyes; she couldn’t have seen him, but somehow she knew. It wasn’t a threat — it was a warning. “People don’t take kindly to foreigners, here.”

“I will,” he promised as he tucked the small bunch of lychees down into his pockets, sparing her one last glance before he readjusted his hood and disappeared back into the crowd. 

North-west it was, then.

-

“The last time I heard from Ten, he was going to try and get passage on a ship out west. He had strong reason to believe that’s where Lucas was heading, but that was . . . just under a month ago, now,” Taemin explained as they sat around the table. Mark had wanted to take the seat on the other side of him (Taeyong obviously having claimed one already) but in the end, he’d settled beside Jongin instead; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to sit _here_ , it just meant being further away from the others. At least Taeyong kept knocking their feet together under the table. 

“I don’t see how we’re ever going to catch up with them,” Jongin murmured beside him, fingers tightening on his waist. “They’re so far ahead of us—“

“I’m sure with two fae and a demon we can catch up,” Yuta drawled from where he was sitting, carving bits of peel off his apple and eating the flesh off his knife like it was nothing. He was . . . odd, Mark had decided. Always smiling and joking around, but there was something there that even Mark could pick up on, that thrum of power, a little different to that which surrounded Taeyong. No matter how friendly he seemed there was no forgetting what he was, nor what he was capable of. “Besides, Taeyongie told me you were all smart.”

“It’s storm season now,” Baekhyun spoke up with that little furrow between his brows that always made itself known when he was planning. 

“No captain in their right mind would take us on board — most ships are grounded at the docks.”

“I know a guy,” the elder bounced back. Of course. Baekhyun _always_ knew a guy. “We’ll have to pay him handsomely, of course, but Doh Kyungsoo will do anything if you pay him well enough and there’s no one out there who sails better than him. The man hasn’t come onto land since he was a kid.”

“You’re sure he’ll take us?” Taeyong asked, hope sprouting in his gaze.

“If the money isn’t enough, he owes me a favour.”

“Isn’t there a way we can, you know, magic in?” Mark found himself asking in a tone that was less even than he’d like it to be. 

“Magic in?” Yuta laughed. “Unless you guys have a portal laying around, no.” Mark gulped.

“It’ll be okay, Mark,” Baekhyun murmured, fingers twitching like he was going to reach out before he stopped himself, wrapping them back around his mug. “I know you don’t like ships, but . . . you won’t be _alone_.”

“You won’t be the one throwing their guts up every five seconds,” he huffed out. Still, he knew they had to do this, even if he had no fucking clue how any of this was actually going to work. 

“If we’re going to be away for what could be months, I want us to put Jungwoo in charge of the men — there’s no one better qualified and no one they trust more. I think he can do it,” Mark finally relented (which was worth it just to see Taeyong smile), “and we’ll need to put a few other people in charge. I know a guy who can maintain our finances.” Doyoung would do it, if Jungwoo asked. “Baekhyun, could you get help from the north?”

Baekhyun’s eyes seemed to instantly snap towards Jongin as though he was waiting for an outburst, but the silver-haired male just inclined his head a little to urge him on.

“They . . . they’ll definitely help, but don’t ask me to try and get one of them here,” Baekhyun spoke slowly, rubbing his face. “Minseok definitely won’t let them leave his sight, but it’s mutual — they’ll send whatever we need, some men to keep things in check if we need that.”

“How are they?” Taeyong spoke up excitedly. Mark had almost forgotten that he’d sparked a friendship with their northern allies, especially the two magic users which stood by King Minseok’s side — it was easy to forget, also, that he didn’t know much about _anything_ that’d happened in the battle or the aftermath.

“They’re healing,” the elder explained, managing a small smile. “Jongdae was in rough shape for weeks afterwards and they didn’t take it well. It didn’t help that Minseok got cut up pretty bad, too — for a while we thought he’d lose sight in one eye.” Mark had known, but he hadn’t realised it’d been _that_ bad. Then again he supposed they hadn’t really had a chance to talk about a lot in the past months, not in-depth, at least. “They’ll be so happy to know you’re okay, Taeyong.”

“I’ll visit them,” Taeyong murmured decisively as he reached out to squeeze Baekhyun’s shoulder, “when we come home.”

Once upon a time they’d all existed in the same space so easily, yet these days no matter how hard he tried there was still a tension that settled in the air, and Mark knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it — it had to be tangible for all of them. Threads which had once been woven so closely were tattered and frayed at the edges, some almost split altogether; Mark wished that he knew how to fix it. 

“You cut your hair shorter,” Taeyong mused some hours later as they walked down through one of the back alleys of the city, reaching out to brush over some of the shorter hairs behind his ear with a smile. Taemin was perhaps two steps behind them, wings and eyes hidden away from the world, and Taeyong had donned a cloak before they’d left, too. There wasn’t too much point hiding his return but people had thought he was dead — maybe it’d be better not to flaunt it yet. 

“And your ears are pointier,” Mark pointed out with a chuckle, mirroring the other’s motion and tracing over the slight deviation in the shell of his ear under the cloak. It wasn’t enough to really catch your eye unless you were looking, but it was enough to make you wonder once you noticed. People here sported a much better attitude to magic these days but you could never be too careful. Taeyong flushed as though he was embarrassed and weakly knocked his hand away only to bump into his side, head resting on his shoulder for a moment. 

“Hey, it’s cute!” Taeyong just snorted.

“It is,” Taemin chimed softly from behind them — Mark had almost forgotten he was there with how quiet he’d been, their personal shadow — which only served to make Taeyong duck his head down a little more. They’d all changed, but Mark didn’t think it was a bad thing. It didn’t have to be. Just as he wasn’t the same boy which had once lived within the city walls, he wasn’t the same man who’d walked these streets six months ago. 

“They’re annoying.”

“Cute,” Mark corrected insistently yet said nothing more on the matter as he stopped before a dark door in the wall and knocked a few times, pulling his own hood down. There was silence for a few moments before the sound of a chain rattling reached them through the door and it was pulled open just enough to reveal an eye, and then an entire body.

“Mark, what are you doing sneaking around like a sewer rat— oh.” Donghyuck blinked a few times, took in the two people in his company, and then looked back to him with incredibly wide eyes. “Looks awfully serious,” he hummed in that tone that meant he was definitely prying even as he stepped aside to let them in, those sharp eyes of his scanning over the new guests as he started putting together the pieces.

“This one is Taemin, right? And this one . . .”

“Taeyong,” the male in question offered with a smile despite the fact that Donghyuck could quite literally be _anyone_ ; Mark couldn’t help but be proud that Taeyong still trusted him so completely even after all this time. Donghyuck’s eyes seemed to widen even more.

“Yes, Hyuck, _that_ Taeyong — can you get Doyoung and Jungwoo?”

Needless to say, Donghyuck was not impressed by the fact he was encouraged to leave the room whilst the ‘adults’ talked (he seemed far too interested in asking Taemin very specific questions that made Mark worry what all those books in his room were really about) but Jungwoo had always had a way with the younger, and somehow managed to convince him to keep serving while they sat down in a back room. 

“You’re not here to cause trouble, are you?” Was the first thing out of Doyoung’s list, and whilst Mark wasn’t surprised, he really wished that it hadn’t been. Somehow Taeyong _didn’t_ look offended, but he did bow his head down a little.

“No,” he murmured. “That was never my intention—“

“Good. I don’t want Jungwoo and me to have to pick up the pieces again.” Oh. Okay, _that_ did surprise him; he’d assumed that the other was talking about the city and the threat everyone had been under, not the fact that he’d . . . well, no one else had really seen the effects that all of this had on him, save for Doyoung and Jungwoo — he’d had to be strong, for the others. It was nice to have friends that weren’t people he was in love with. Admittedly, he’d never really had the chance to discover that was a thing until recently.

Doyoung was a lot, but he was his friend, and he _did_ care.

“And make sure to deal with Baekhyun, I’m sick of him moping in here for hours and drinking everything I have—“

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo interjected with a soft squeeze of his hand, lips pressed together like he was struggling not to laugh. “Let them speak, love.” It worked like magic.

“We need to leave for a while,” Mark started in explanation. “We could be gone for months — we don’t know exactly how long. Baekhyun is organising everything as we speak, but I wanted to come here and talk to you both in person. Woo, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you take over for a while?”

“You think I’m ready for that?” Jungwoo asked evenly, not giving anything away. Mark didn’t hesitate but to nod. 

“You’re the only one I trust for the job.”

“Of course, Mark. Doyoung might not like me being busier, though.”

“Well, I have a job for him too — if he wants it. If we made sure there was more staff for the tavern, would you be willing to help at the castle? We’ll have people coming to help keep everything running but you know this city, Doyoung, and you’re good with money.”

“I don’t know—“

“Oh come on, Doyoung,” Jungwoo laughed, bumping his shoulder playfully where they sat. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think? And it’s not forever, right?”

“No, not forever — just until we find them.”

“Ten?” The honey-haired male queried with a softer look.

“And Lucas, yes.” He watched as Jungwoo ruffled through his pockets before pulling out a small broach of dried leaves and material, something a little weathered and well-loved, but still preserved — he handed it over in his palm with a smile. 

“Give this back to him, when you see him? Tell him it did its job and kept me safe that day.” Mark blinked a few times before nodding and carefully tucking it into his pocket. “And tell him I’m still waiting for him to come back and teach me!” Jungwoo had never really broached the day and a bit he’d spent following Ten around as his guard, probably not wanting to cause him any more pain, but Mark hadn’t realised that the gotten along. It was nice to know they had.

“I will, promise.”

“Now, we better let Hyuckie back in before he starts tearing down the wall — how about I get you all some lunch, hmm?”

“Woo, I’m not sure—“

“We’d love to,” Taeyong cut off with a grin, squeezing Mark’s knee reassuringly under the table and glancing to Taemin, no doubt to make sure it was okay. The elder offered a small nod and the faintest twitch of his lips.

“Wonderful.”

-

“You look pretty miserable.”

Baekhyun jumped a little where he was sitting on one of the castle steps, overlooking an empty courtyard — the one he’d always used whenever he was teaching Taeyong how to handle his blades; he almost knocked the bottle of liquor over before a hand darted out with inhuman reflexes to steady it, dark hair coming into frame by his side. Yuta.

“Not an insult,” the fae was quick to clarify with a laugh, “just an observation — shouldn’t you be happy, rather than drinking out here all alone?” 

“I came here to get away from prying eyes,” Baekhyun snorted without any sort of bite to his voice as he accepted the bottle back. “Want some?” 

There it was — a crack in the mask. Just a twitch of the fae's eyebrow and a tick in his jaw, but Baekhyun liked to think he had more experience reading the emotions of those who weren’t human than your average person. Irritation, maybe.

“Don’t like alcohol?”

“Oh, I like alcohol plenty,” Yuta mused as he sat on the step by his side and leant back on his hands, “but human alcohol is terrible, honestly. Either way, I’m not going to be your drinking buddy and fuel your addiction — wouldn’t be very fair on Taeyong.”

“I don’t have an addiction—“

“—says the man who’s had a bottle in his hadn’t since I’ve arrived. I’m not _judging you_ , Byun Baekhyun—“ Baekhyun did not want to know how the fae knew his full name “—I’m just telling you the truth.” Dark eyes turned to him, and that smile faded to something measured and careful, a sharpness to it that whispered of the creature lurking beneath the human facade. “Taeyong’s given a lot to get back to you. I’m just saying, it’d be a shame if you threw that away.”

The pair stared each other down for a moment before Baekhyun clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together as he forced his gaze away. 

He hated that he was being rational. 

“Aren’t fae supposed to be delicate little flowers who are kind to everyone?” He mumbled. Yuta laughed, and it sounded rather genuine.

“I think we both know that isn’t the case, Baekhyun.”

“Mm. I suppose. Still, you’d be a lot more bearable if you weren’t always playing with those knives.” Baekhyun glanced over as he spoke and noted the way the other’s gaze had shifted back to something much more pleasant and relaxed; one of his eyebrows was arched, amusement evident on his features.

“Does it scare you, little human?”

“No,” he admitted. “It makes me want to see just how good you are?”

Yuta laughed again, a rich, full-bodied laugh that didn’t fade completely even as he pushed himself up onto his heels in one smooth motion that was almost too agile for his own eyes to register, flicking a blade off his belt. “You think you can beat a fae? I’ve been fighting since long before you were even _conceived_.”

“Say you’re scared you’ll be bested by a human and I might have mercy on you,” Baekhyun drawled as he pulled one of his own free, metal twisting around his fingers effortlessly. “I trained Taeyong, you know.”

“I know,” Yuta answered as they moved to more open space, the bottle of liquor forgotten on the step. He looked oddly satisfied. “You’re sloppy.”

Baekhyun surged forward with a playful spark in his eyes and a weight lifted off his shoulders as, for the moment at least, his worries were left behind.

-

Lucas squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on counting in his mind rather than the wet, warm liquid coating his arms and splattered up over his face; it was no use, he realised, as a droplet traced down his nose, hanging in limbo for a moment before cascading down to his lips. The metallic taste that filled his mouth had him gagging, bile rising up in his throat as he hunched over and heaved. Everything that came up tasted like blood and it was all he could smell and feel and—

_Open your eyes, little boy._

“No.”

_Come on, look at what we’ve done._

No, no, he hadn’t done this, _any_ of this. 

_But we did, little boy, we did this together_.

His eyes flew open of his own volition and Lucas sobbed so hard it ached, his own tears carving tracks through the blood staining his face as he looked out at the grotesque display that’d been curated for his viewing. 

“Please,” he begged, adjusting his hands only to jump when there was a wet squelch — he cried out and wrenched himself backwards, only to hit something wet and warm and solid. The brown-haired male whirled around to catch sight of what he’d touched and instantly regretted it when dead eyes stared back at him. All he could do was cry as he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and covered his ears. It did nothing to shut out the voice.

_Don’t you like it, little boy? This is what we’ll do when we get there — we’ll make sure they all suffer for everything they did to you, like they should have from the start—_

“Please don’t,” Lucas pleaded as he curled into a ball on the wet earth, body shaking and trembling even as he felt it start to creep back into his consciousness, wrapping around him like a warm blanket; he despised himself for the way that he craved it, the nothingness, the way it made him feel safe — the way he wanted more than anything the obliviousness that came when it took control of him. It was the only time he felt no pain and sorrow. 

“It wasn’t their fault, they didn’t do anything wrong.”

_They shunned you_.

“No—“

_They ridiculed you, treated you like a monster—_

“You’re the monster,” he whispered to the darkness, white rolling behind his eyelids.

_We are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _The energy didn’t feel like Junmyeon, though — really, the further he delved it felt like it wasn’t even coming from him particularly, just his . . . general vicinity. Taeyong’s brows furrowed a little as he pressed forward and sent out tendrils of his own power, just searching, yet Junmyeon didn’t even glance at him as they were shut out by an unmovable force. It was like whiplash. He glanced to Yuta, who met his gaze with a tick of his eyebrow that often showed he wasn’t pleased._


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They set out on a journey still filled with immeasurable unknowns and try to ignore rising tensions; Lucas tests Ten's morality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bad at waiting to update :)
> 
> Also, there is a lil bit of fluff and comfort in this chapter! A nice reprieve from all the pain ksksk
> 
> potential TW:  
> \- moderately graphic descriptions of violence/gore/death (of animals :c)  
> \- references of PTSD/panic attacks
> 
> [ _Lieshou_ \- literally translates to 'hunter/s' based on my research]

Taeyong had told himself that once he found his way home he’d never dream of leaving again — he hadn’t anticipated that only days after stepping foot in the city again he’d be packing his bags in preparation to leave for an indefinite amount of time. Then again, he supposed that he never could’ve anticipated any of this. Beyond that, though, this wasn’t about him — this was about _them_. Ten, Lucas . . . the others.

Even without the worries that’d latched onto his thoughts about their missing loves, being here simply wasn’t the best thing for them right now. He’d missed these castle walls with everything in him during his time away yet now, as he traced his fingers over rough stone, he realised just how restrictive they were in the moment. A large, sprawling castle suddenly felt too small, too constrictive, when taking into consideration the waves that felt like they were clashing all around him, each of them forces of nature in their own regard. If Jongin felt like a wildfire, warm and comforting yet rash and unpredictable, then Baekhyun felt like the ocean — a constant, steady lull which was equally as unsettling. Taemin was perhaps a little more difficult to place, but he . . . Taeyong supposed he was like the wind, capable of fuelling each or snuffing their wrath out completely. That left Mark, who he could only describe as the earth; it was jarring to see that he’d become the battleground that stretched out between them, the one who seemed to take the brunt of each hit more than the intended target.

Such forces couldn’t exist together in this castle, not for now.

All Taeyong could help was that the road would give everyone a space to breathe and reconcile.

“Are you almost ready to head out?”

Taeyong glanced up from where he’d been idly staring down at the vials in his palms to focus on the figure staring in his doorway — Mark. His features instantly softened as he set them down into the top of his bag and reached out with one hand to beckon the other male closer, tugging him in by his arm the moment he was close enough and pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. “Almost,” he confirmed as Mark returned the gesture. “Are you nervous?”

“Aren’t you?”

The white-haired male shifted so that he was standing better in front of Mark and could give him his full attention and placed his hands on the bench on either side of him. To be fair, he did take a few moments to consider the question.

Nervous wasn’t really the word for what he felt — concern was probably a better expression. He hated knowing that Ten was out there dealing with all of this alone and that he’d had even less of an opportunity to heal after what’d happened, not when his own nightmare was still very much ongoing. Then there was Lucas. He . . . gods, even _thinking_ about what he had to be going through right now was enough to make him falter. 

He’d had a number of things he’d missed about each and every one of them, but Lucas, hell, he’d missed his smile so much, his laughter — it’d always been so incredibly infectious and had made him laugh during times when he’d thought it’d be impossible. The fact the other had even been able to smile with that burden he bore was proof of just how strong he truly was, and Taeyong was just praying that strength would be enough to get him through.

“No,” Taeyong finally murmured as he tilted his head forward to steal a kiss, something light and innocent as their lips skipped over one another. “I believe in us. Everything’s going to work out just fine.”

They’d all been so strong while he was away, and now it was his turn to help carry that burden. 

All Mark answered him with was a hum that was slurred between their mouths as fingers threaded tentatively through his hair only to tighten a little when he dared to scrape his teeth over his bottom lip, chuckling into the kiss. “The others will be waiting,” the white-haired male forced himself to point out as he pulled back to rest their foreheads together instead.

“You still have this.” It took a moment for him to realise Mark was referring to the pendant that still hung heavy around his throat, sapphire sparkling in the light between them.

“Like I’d ever let it go,” Taeyong teased warmly before stepping away and linking one of his hands with Mark’s as he closed his bag up; the larger one was slid over his shoulder until he could add it to his steed, but he had another one tied around his waist, too, filled with numerous things — resting right on top was the small glass vial of nightshade extract which Ten had gifted him what seemed like an eternity ago on his last journey. He hadn’t used it then, but perhaps this time it would come in handy.

By the time they’d worked their way down to the main courtyard with bags in tow everyone was already loading up their horses. It was fairly quiet save for the conversation he could hear coming from where Baekhyun and Yuta were standing — the latter was finishing up tacking a horse he instantly recognised as his own, a beautiful, flea-bitten grey mare they’d picked up on their way. Yuta had insisted the horse was a little sickly and that they could do better for their money (especially given the bad shape she’d been in at the time) but Taeyong had refused to leave her behind. With some coaxing, she’d come well within a matter of days and now stood before him as healthy as ever. 

“You didn’t need to do this for me, Yuta,” Taeyong chastised softly, but he knew it did nothing to hide the gratitude in his voice as he accepted the reigns and smoothed a hand down her nose. 

“It’s my job,” the dark-haired male simply chuckled. No matter how many times they had this conversation, Yuta insisted on doing many things for him, most of them things that Taeyong could easily do without assistance. 

“Hi, Mouse,” Taeyong half cooed as she butted her head against him, smiling and pulling half an apple he’d saved from breakfast from his pocket so that she could eat it out of his palm.

“Mouse?” A voice chuckled from beside him. Taeyong rolled his eyes playfully and glanced to where Baekhyun was standing with his arms crossed and obvious amusement plastered across his face; despite the fact he looked a little rough this morning, he looked . . . it was the most relaxed he’d seen him. “What a creative name for a horse.”

“Laugh at me all you want,” he snorted as the other fought back laughter and reached out to gently shove his shoulder. “It suits her. She’s sensitive.” Whilst Taeyong had paid that day Yuta had been tasked with leading the skittish mare from the makeshift paddock she’d been in with the other horses, and he’d definitely never had any sort of experience with such a timid horse, but he’d been determined to gain her trust.

Even when Yuta had insisted he was being ridiculous as he’d walked alongside her rather than riding her that first day he’d persisted — even that night when he’d foregone the warmth of their tent to sit by the tree she’d been tethered to and had hummed to her for hours until she’d drifted closer, he’d refused to give up.

It’d paid off.

“It’s cute,” Baekhyun hummed rather than teasing him any further, but when the other reached out to ruffled his hair Taeyong ducked out of the way with reflexes he was still struggling to control and grabbed his arm, yanking him closer. Even though the other was obviously rather shocked he laughed, but Taeyong . . . he didn’t want to laugh. It still scared him, what he was capable of. After a moment he forced the muscles in his face to relax and twisted his head to silence the other with a chaste little kiss before he finally pulled back.

He felt like Jongin’s eyes were burning holes in the back of his head. 

It was a little hard to face their departure, though he couldn’t deny it was made infinitely easier by the company he’d have by his side, and the small, casual farewell in the courtyard. Jungwoo and those he’d met the other night, Doyoung and Donghyuck, had been people he’d expected to see them off given that they’d be helping keep things running smoothly whilst they were gone, but . . . well, Kim Junmyeon had not been someone he was sure any of them had expected. Even Baekhyun, it seemed.

“Junmyeon? What are you doing here?”

It was common knowledge, after all, that the eldest Kim had been in what was essentially self-imposed seclusion for years and that he rarely came down from that mountain, let alone _travelled_. 

He looked far from a man who was once heir to the northern throne, with dark brown hair which was swept back off his forehead and a kind smile, plain, common clothes wrapped around his body and only a few northern guards travelling with him. And they seemed to be doing exactly that, travelling with him rather than guarding him. 

One of his hands drifted up to settle on a necklace that Taeyong hadn’t quite noticed beforehand, a simple cloth chord that had a beautiful pendant you’d expect to see on precious metals fastened at the end; the stone was almost luminescent in nature with swirling hues of red and gold and everything in between, and it took him a few moments to realise that no, it wasn’t a stone. Some sort of rounded vial, then?

“The king and his court weren’t up to travelling,” he explained even though they’d already been aware, “but I asked to come along and assist. Is there a problem?”

The last, and only time, that Taeyong had met this man, he’d still been very much clouded by the restraints which had been placed on his true nature, and he’d never really understood why Taemin seemed so uneasy around him. Now, he understood. Junmyeon was such an unassuming figure when you really looked at him, kind and soft-spoken yet with an air of mystery to him, yet the power that radiated off him in waves was so potent that Taeyong had truly never experienced anything like it. Based on the fact that both Taemin and Yuta were watching him warily he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

The energy didn’t feel like Junmyeon, though — really, the further he delved it felt like it wasn’t even coming from him particularly, just his . . . general vicinity. Taeyong’s brows furrowed a little as he pressed forward and sent out tendrils of his own power, just searching, yet Junmyeon didn’t even glance at him as they were shut out by an unmovable force. It was like whiplash. He glanced to Yuta, who met his gaze with a tick of his eyebrow that often showed he wasn’t pleased. 

“Of course not,” Jongin spoke as he strode forward and shook the other’s hand, impervious to any of it. “It’s good to have you here, Junmyeon — it’s a relief to know we have someone of your skill to rely on in our absence.” After all, Junmyeon had been trained to inherit the northern kingdom. There was no better choice to help while they were away.

Despite all that power, Taeyong didn’t necessarily feel like Junmyeon was any sort of threat.

It just made him impossibly curious. 

“You be careful, Mark Lee,” Jungwoo shouted from the steps as they started to mouth their horses and Taeyong couldn’t help but feel as though he wasn’t talking just about the trip.

“Do you have everything you need, Taeyong?” A rich voice murmured and pulled him from his thoughts, turning his attention away from their entourage and towards Jongin instead, who was sitting atop his sabino steed and watching him with a softer expression. Somewhere underneath those words, Taeyong could hear the real question, the tentative _are you sure about this_?

“Mhmm,” he hummed with a smile, Mouse’s reigns curled in his fingers, “promise.”

-

Lucas wasn’t making this easy. Hell, none of this had been _easy_ from the start, but in a way, he almost preferred the sporadic trail the other had left in his wake rather than the obvious display he was putting on now — like he was purposely trying to draw attention to himself. This wasn’t home, where people wouldn’t _know_. One thing Ten had realised over the last few days was that the folklore here was something much more real and therefore something the public actually acknowledged. This wasn’t home, where people feared magic and therefore knew nothing about it. The magic here was different, but everyone knew of it.

They knew it wasn’t an animal killing things, and they knew it was no human who held magic, either.

Ten wished that Lucas would just . . . be discreet.

On one hand, it meant that he knew exactly where to go and was quickly closing in, but on the other, he was beginning to bet that he wasn’t the only one doing so; they were only a day and a half out of Weishen territory now after a week of constant chasing and no one believed the stories better than them, for they’d never been stories. Lucas was going to reconnect with his past sooner than Ten had hoped for, but he wasn’t sure who he was more worried for, yet. 

Ten knew plenty of the place that his love had grown up in and what he’d endured there, but he’d discovered over the last week of travelling that the information he had didn’t necessarily translate well into today. Things had changed drastically and Ten was still trying to piece together all the fragments that he’d collected during his journey. For one, he knew to look out for the Lieshou, a band of men who directly served The Matriarch — an ominous figure that he was starting to wonder if he needed to be worried about, one who utilised forms of magic that some whispered were twisted and unnatural. 

Hopefully, his curiosity wouldn’t get the better of him.

Last night Lucas had slaughtered fourteen horses and strung their innards between the canopy like an intricate spiders web of flesh and blood — it wasn’t the most gruesome scene he’d left for them so far, but it was likely the most ambitious, and it just reaffirmed what Ten had always known; the thing that resided in his lover wasn’t a mindless, bloodthirsty beast. It was intelligent — cunning, even — and it was _always_ one step ahead of everyone. Even the flies dared not land on the mutilated corpses that’d littered the bases of the trees, like they could feel the malevolent residue clinging to their torn bodies.

There wasn’t much bigger he could go here than the horses, and Ten was worried that the next step was going to be more people. Gods, he prayed to anything there was that wasn’t going to be the case, not after last time. The . . . parting gift that Lucas had left him before he’d come across the sea had been bad enough. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much more the other’s soul could take.

Ten had taken to stealing any sleep he could manage during the day, if just for the fact that Lucas could move more freely at night and always made use of the cover of darkness. That wasn’t to say he ever really got much rest these days, not with everything he’d seen, not with the images that filled his mind each time he tried to close his eyes — perhaps it was penance, for what he’d done. For what he’d unleashed.

He never should’ve given in to Lucas’s insistences. He’d rather the other hate him that go through this.

When Ten’s eyes finally opened in the late afternoon, the first thing he noticed was the sweet smell which had crept into his nose — something soft yet still prominent enough that it caught his attention and made him stir. The dark-haired male groaned as he pushed himself up to sit on the rough ground, rubbing at his face and ignoring the dull aches in his spine, the kink in his neck from using his coat as a pillow, the way his lips split when he yawned.

The last thing he expected to lay eyes on when he finally focused on his surrounds was the mass of white orchids which had been plucked and placed around where he was sleeping, spreading out around him. Ten hated that he knew instantly who’d arranged the display, and not only that but why it was white orchids of all things; his eyes burned as he reached out to brush the pads of his fingers over a few before reaching out for the loaf of bread which had been left on his pack, still warm when he picked it up. Lucas had been here, not long ago, and he’d been _asleep_.

_/Ten stared at the yellow carnations that Lucas had roughly picked from the side of the path and placed in his lap, his chest tightening before he erupted in laughter._

_“Wait, why are you laughing? They’re supposed to be an apology,” Lucas whined with furrowed brows that only served to make him smile even wider._

_“I’m not laughing at you, sweetheart,” Ten had reassured as he’d reached out to pinch the other’s cheek fondly. “Yellow ones mean you don’t like me, is all.” It was teasing, but fond teasing, of course — he knew that Lucas often listened when he rambled on, but he didn’t expect the taller male to remember every little word that left his lips. “Next time, try white orchids, for an apology.”He set the flowers to the side gently (because he was still going to keep them) and threaded his fingers into Lucas’s freshly cropped hair instead, grinning as he leaned his body forward to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. It certainly wiped away his frown./_

Lucas had remembered, even after all these years. 

Ten sat in silence as he ate the loaf that’d been left out for him no matter how his stomach wanted to reject the food — it was rather hard to eat these days — and once he was done he packed his things, shrugged his coat on. He couldn’t quite bring himself to head off until he’d picked up one of the blossoms and tucked it into his pocket, just because . . . he didn’t have a valid reason, other than hope and a desperate need to hold on to any sign of Lucas’s humanity that he could find.

-

“You’re not doing it right,” Baekhyun mumbled as he watched Jongin try to get the twigs to take. He’d tried to explain numerous times that he needed to just find ones which were a little drier, a little less green, but the bastard refused to listen to him. He’d say he didn’t know why, but it’d be a lie, of course — he was only ignoring the advice because it was him.

“Really? Think you can do better? It’s wet wood, Baekhyun, it’s not going to magically—“

As if on cue, the pile of split logs they’d gathered and tried to air as best they could erupted into a constant flicker of flames, far away from the small pile of twigs that Jongin had been trying to foster first. His eyes flickered over to where Yuta was watching them with amusement and fingers raised in a way that showed the click had been from him. Oh, magically. Of course. Taeyong had taken Mark with him to find some dinner and Taemin was scouting the area, just to be safe, leaving the three of them here to do the fire.

Not the best combination yet Baekhyun felt like it’d been purposeful.

“Did I win the pissing contest?” Yuta hummed cheerfully as he leant forward and pulled off his gloves so that he could warm his fingers above the flames. Baekhyun just found himself chuckling as he moved forward to join him but Jongin hung back a little and petulantly continued trying to get his own flame going, too. It . . . it wasn’t his first thought, but after a moment he found himself realising that yes, Jongin was stubborn, but it probably wasn’t just that that was keeping him from joining them. 

“Jongin?” He spoke up, glancing over his shoulder. Jongin met his gaze instantly but didn’t give anything away other than the set of his jaw. “C’mere. I probably wouldn’t have been able to light it either.” For a few moments, he wasn’t sure if there was any use even trying especially given any attempt he’d made had always been brushed off, yet eventually, Jongin nodded and abandoned his efforts to come and take the spot a few feet away so he could put his shoes out to dry properly.

Baekhyun was rather used to Taemin just dropping down from the sky like some sort of overgrown bird, but evidently, Yuta was _not_. He supposed the other hadn’t really had a chance to see him like this over the last two days of travelling. It was almost funny to see the way that the fae flinched when Taemin landed silently barely a metre from them with those large wings flared out and shining in the afternoon light; he knew better than the other just how freakishly incredible their travelling guest’s reflexes and senses were after that night they’d sparred. He liked to think he’d done well. . . for a human. In the end, Yuta had been impossible for him to beat, though, even if it’d felt like he’d had the upper hand a few times.

For all the riling up the fae had done, he’d praised Baekhyun’s skills plenty afterwards. He wasn’t used to people being _better_ than him.

The demon and the fae seemed to stare each other down for a moment before Yuta relaxed and that wide, heart-smile he always wore returned to his features. Taemin’s wings disappeared in a flurry of feathers; Baekhyun still wasn’t sure where they went because it was impossible to really tell, but in a way, it often seemed like they just, well, folded back into him. 

“The port is pretty deserted like you said, but there is one ship that looks ready to sail,” Taemin explained as he moved over to join them and took one of the spaces around the fire.

“That’ll be Kyungsoo,” the blond mused as he pushed some of his hair back. Without Jongdae here to touch up the enchantment he knew his hair was already a little less vivid than it was supposed to be, but he supposed if he was desperate he could just ask Taeyong to change it for him, even Taemin. “I told you, he never docks his ship for more than a few days, and he never comes ashore.”

“How does he get supplies then?” Jongin asked, and for once he didn’t sound snarky, just curious. 

Baekhyun shrugged. “When the ports are busy people just know to come and sell to him, he always buys well. When they’re not . . . I don’t know, really.”

“A lot of men like him don’t come ashore,” Taemin pointed out. Okay, valid.

“Not never, though,” he hummed before pausing when he heard a little rustle. Even from here he could hear their laughter, and it put an instant smile onto his lips. “Having fun?” Baekhyun asked as Mark and Taeyong finally stepped through the bushes, Mark with his bow and arrow and a few rabbits strung to his belt and Taeyong carrying a basket that looked rather full of various things. Both were smiling ear to ear and bumping each other’s shoulders, mucking around like children.

He hadn’t seen Mark smile like that in so long. He’d missed it more than he’d realised.

“Lots,” Taeyong chimed up as he set the basket down, and now Baekhyun could see that it was filled with what seemed like vegetables and fruit, as well as some foliage that no doubt had some sort of use, edible or medicinal. “I was just saying that Mark’s getting a little rusty.” There was a spark in the fae’s eyes that no doubt meant he was teasing yet Mark still fell right into it, getting flustered as he put his bow down and stumbled over his words.

“I— no, I’m not getting rusty!” Baekhyun couldn’t help but laugh when his voice cracked ever so slightly on that last syllable and everyone else either was, or was trying not to. “I could’ve gotten that last one if you didn’t—“ the younger cut himself off. Even from a few feet away he could see the flush rising up his neck. “ _Yong_.”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong chuckled even when it looked like he was enjoying himself far too much, pressing a lingering kiss to Mark’s cheek and unclipping the ring of rabbits they had managed to bring back off his belt before sitting down. Mark didn’t seem _that_ bothered by it considering that he instantly settled by the white-haired male’s side which meant right next to him. He didn’t even falter.

He didn’t think anything about it when Taeyong pulled out his knife (his heart stuttered a little when he realised it was the same one he’d gifted him) and started skinning one of the rabbits so they could start cooking, but he did notice just how skilfully he started off. It was only a few seconds later that he noticed the shake that started in his hands, the way his whole body was tensed like he was trying not to react.

Before Baekhyun could reach out Yuta was already reaching over and setting a hand over the one on the knife. “I’ll do it, Taeyong.”

“I know how,” he declared strongly, but Yuta didn’t let go.

“I know you do, I taught you,” Yuta commented, “but I’m going to skin the rabbits, okay? Go wash your hands, then how about you show us what else you brought back?” It looked like Taeyong was going to argue again before a wave of relief seemed to crash over his features and he nodded, handing it all over and standing up so he could stumble off, likely to the stream. 

“What just—“

“I’ll go check on him,” Baekhyun spoke up, inadvertently cutting Mark off, and Taemin was already at his feet and ready to go too but after a moment he nodded and sat back down slowly. Yuta just nodded at him as he continued skinning the rabbit that Taeyong had already started. 

“You’re not the only ones who were there that day,” Yuta mumbled quietly. “It takes time, to heal.”

Baekhyun wiped his clammy palms onto the sides of his pants and tried to ignore the way that his head was still pounding as he followed in the direction he’d seen Taeyong stumble off to. It didn’t take long to find him, kneeling by the side of the stream and furiously scrubbing the blood off his palms, the movements rough and probably not very pleasant. Taeyong didn’t seem surprised when he knelt down beside him but he didn’t shy away, just kept his gaze down and let him cover his hands with his own. He paused his lips but stayed silent even if he had so many questions and instead focused on washing the blood away much more gently, watching it fade into the water.

“Do you want to talk to hyung about it?” He offered softly, and it at least succeeded in making Taeyong’s lips twitch a little.

“It’s not cute when you call yourself that,” the other groaned quietly and leant into his side which was answer enough in itself. Baekhyun just hummed and wiped his wet hands dry before wrapping his arms around the younger and holding him there, letting him tuck his face into his throat and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

“You love it,” Baekhyun teased. “You just let me know when you’re ready to go back, how does that sound? We can sit here as long as you’d like.”

“And if I want to sit here forever?”

“That’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _Those dark eyes shifted past Baekhyun to them, and Mark felt like he understood, then — it felt like staring into the eye of a storm, the calm lull that you experienced just before it dragged you under._
> 
> _“I told you not to come back, Baekhyun,” he spoke quietly in a low voice that was smooth like velvet, turning his gaze back to the rope in his hands. “Whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”_
> 
> _“Soo, man, come on, I didn’t even get to ask,” Baekhyun drawled as he nudged the other’s shoulder despite the fact he looked like he wanted to throttle him._


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected guests join them on the ship, and across the sea, Ten encounters something troubling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) pls enjoy these crumbs of comfort

Mark would be the first to admit that perhaps he’d just expected, well . . . a little _more_ , when it came to Doh Kyungsoo. Baekhyun had told them plenty of stories over the past few days as they journeyed to the nearest port town about his encounters with the man (pirate, really, his mind suggested) in question, and all of it had made him seem like some sort of— something. Something more than human. Something _terrifying_. 

He supposed he’d expected someone taller, scarier, someone who you could pick out from a crowd.

When Baekhyun strolled down the dock and came to a stop in front of a rather short, unassuming man with dark hair and dark eyes who was untying intricate knots, he’d assumed that the man was someone who worked on the one ship that still appeared as though it was in use. The rest looked abandoned, sails folded and tied neatly on deck rather than flowing in the breeze. He was dressed just as plainly as them and didn’t seem to be armed; he certainly didn’t look like a pirate.

Those dark eyes shifted past Baekhyun to them, and Mark felt like he understood, then — it felt like staring into the eye of a storm, the calm lull that you experienced just before it dragged you under. 

“I told you not to come back, Baekhyun,” he spoke quietly in a low voice that was smooth like velvet, turning his gaze back to the rope in his hands. “Whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”

“Soo, man, _come on_ , I didn’t even get to ask,” Baekhyun drawled as he nudged the other’s shoulder despite the fact he looked like he wanted to throttle him. Before the man — Kyungsoo — could speak, Taemin stepped forward.

“Surely you could hear us out?” Taemin proposed with that steady purr to his voice that never ceased to get him exactly what he desired. It was utterly hypnotic. Just being in his general vicinity was enough to have Mark wanting to gravitate closer and closer and reach out—

“No.”

Taemin wasn’t the only one that was shocked by the clear denial; people didn’t just disagree with Taemin, of all people, and certainly not when he played up that otherworldly charm. This guy was staring right into his eyes and seemed completely unaffected other than an obvious irritation which was starting to make the muscles in his jaw tick. “Go home.”

“You owe me a favour, remember?” Baekhyun tried.

“You, yes. Them, no. You know I don’t like strangers.”

Baekhyun sighed before pulling a hefty pouch out of his coat and setting the weight in Kyungsoo’s hand. Surprisingly the other man didn’t try to hand it back, just seemed to test it in his grip and glance at them like he was weighing the benefits of accepting the money. “Where you do want to go?”

“West.”

Kyungsoo snorted even though he still hadn’t let go of the money. “Any captain would be crazy to sail now, and certainly not _west_.”

“But you’re not any captain, right?” Mark found himself speaking up before he even realised he’d opened his mouth, taking another step so he was closer to Baekhyun’s side. “Hyung told us you’re the _best_. Besides, it looks like you’re already planning to head off, anyway.”

A thick silence settled in the air around them and those dark eyes flickered to regard him with a sort of curiosity for a few long, long moments before Kyungsoo hummed and tucked the pouch into his own coat safely. “Smart,” was all he murmured before reaching out to knock down the wooden ramp. It rattled as it descended before landing on the dock with a loud thump that disturbed some of the dust gathered on weathered wood. “I guess I have room for six more.”

Six _more_?

The 'more', apparently, referred to the two other men which Kyungsoo had already agreed to take across the ocean. Mark was willing to bet that either their captain owed the men some sort of favour like Baekhyun kept referring to, or that they’d already paid him a handsome sum to take them, if just because Kyungsoo really didn’t seem like the sort of guy who liked to give people favours. Based on the shiny weapons strapped to them and the fact they were both giants, standing easily as tall as Kai if not taller, he was willing to bet it was money. 

Mark had seen enough mercenaries over the years to know one when he saw one.

“I didn’t think we’d have company,” the (slightly) shorter one with coal-black hair snorted from where he stood near one of the masts, a crossbow at his side. His tone was obviously disapproving.

“Last minute decision,” was all Kyungsoo proclaimed, “and they paid better. Problem?”

“No, there’s no problem,” the other one reassured as he stood up to his full height. He was _tall_ , even taller than Mark had first anticipated, and it was hard to tell but he was pretty sure that if compared this man would be taller than even Lucas. Despite his height and the numerous weapons plastered to his gear the man seemed rather friendly in comparison to his counterpart, offering them a wide smile as he pushed dark-brown hair back off his forehead and stepped forward to properly great them. 

“Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun all but hissed, sounding as though he’d been thrown to the wolves. The man just shrugged.

“Not my problem, Baekhyun.”

“Wait, _Baekhyun_? As in Byun Baekhyun?” The black-haired male cut in, looking mildly amused in a way that was somehow incredibly unsettling. “I distinctly remember telling you that if you ever stole from us I’d hunt you down and—“

“Sehun,” the taller male chastised, but he didn’t look overly pleased with the situation either. “We’re not cutting off his hands. It was years ago.”

Baekhyun laughed, still full of nervous energy but smiling as he playfully punched the man’s shoulder, only to pull his hand back quickly when his gaze darkened a little. “I always knew you were my favourite, Chanyeol.”

“Save it, Baekhyun. If anything goes missing, I’ll let him do it,” the other stated. “It’s nice to meet the rest of you, though.”

All of them knew that Baekhyun had a rocky past and it had never been something that the elder had really hidden from them — he couldn’t have, not when the first time they’d met he’d quite literally swindled them — but they’d never really gotten a true glimpse of his life _before_ , not like this. Whatever Baekhyun had done to piss these two off it was enough to make one of them want to maim him and there definitely seemed to be a history there. 

Mark suddenly felt even more apprehensive about this whole trip.

What could go wrong, right? All they were doing was setting sail on deadly seas with a ship filled with two pissed off mercenaries, a captain who tolerated them and a whole bunch of miscommunication which meant they were always a hairsbreadth away from blowing up.

It sounded like the beginnings of one of Baekhyun’s jokes.

_Great_.

-

Taeyong had seen wonders that no mortal would ever lay eyes on in the fae realm, yet somehow none of that compared to the ocean, something he’d never imagined he’d have a chance to witness. He’d been in awe the moment they’d ridden into the port, and whilst their horses had been lodged he’d wandered along the rocky shoreline, dragging his fingers through the water and smiling to himself. It was still hard for him to fathom just how far the world really went on — the idea that there were so many people he didn’t know, places he’d never been . . . it was crazy. 

Yet he’d been able to feel the thrum of the sea calling to him and the power it held; he knew it wasn’t to be taken lightly, but he could feel that it could be swayed by his power to a degree, ripples appearing under his hovering hand as he’d crouched by the shore.

Being on a ship for the first time was a completely odd experience. For one, it felt like the world was constantly shifting underneath him with the swells of each wave. For the first hour or so as they pulled away from the town he’d sat beside Mark at the stern of the ship, staring at the land which was slowly disappearing from view. The winds were strong, today. Taeyong had quietly rubbed a hand over Mark’s back as he heaved over the side — he’d emptied the contents of his stomach within the first fifteen minutes but his body kept trying to bring up anything it could.

A faint snicker, too quiet for human ears, resounded further back on deck and Taeyong’s head whirled around to shoot a glare at the man in question. Sehun. The fact he’d threatened Baekhyun was already enough to have him less than favourable in his books, but laughing at Mark when he was like this? What an asshole. 

Mark heaved again and he instantly turned back to face him, wiping his face with a damp cloth and watching with a pinched expression. “Let me help,” he implored again. He’d offered numerous times on the way, and since they’d boarded, but Mark had been stubborn — claimed he’d be fine once he got through it. It was becoming obvious that wasn’t the case.

Rather than offering a verbal reply Mark just nodded weekly, turning and slumping back against the wooden planks of the ship with pale cheeks, hand clutching his stomach. Taeyong wasted no time in pulling his kit around to a space in front of him and ruffling through it; he was prepared for this, of course, in fact he’d tried to prepare for pretty much everything he could possibly think of. He didn’t want to be caught off guard again and truthfully he couldn’t completely rely on his magic. Not because it wouldn’t work, but because he wasn’t good at making it do what he wanted.

He wouldn’t risk hurting anyone in the process.

“Here,” he soothed as he reached out and placed a few little tabs on Mark’s tongue. “Chew those, okay?”

“It’s disgusting,” Mark half slurred as he screwed his face up, but he didn’t argue. He had to be desperate, to willingly chew raw ginger like that.

“I know.” Taeyong stroked his hair as he chewed and let him lean his head against his shoulder, his other hand tangled with Mark’s fingers in his lap and tracing patterns over his palm. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Taeyong didn’t tense when he heard footsteps approaching even though everything in him wanted to coil and get ready to fight. Instinct. His eyes raised up from their hands to eye him warily, Chanyeol, as he approached with a wooden mug. He didn’t look smug — if anything, he’d say the taller male looked sympathetic. “Here,” he offered as he crouched down in front of them and held it out. “I figured he could use some freshwater.”

Taeyong eyed it for a few moments before nodding in thanks and taking it from the other’s hands so he could raise it up for Mark, cradling his head as he drank. “Just a sip at a time,” he instructed gently.

“Are you a doctor?”

He’d almost forgotten they had an audience.

Once he was sure that Mark wasn’t going to drop the cup he’d wrapped up in his palm he turned his attention back to Chanyeol, eyes mapping out the assortment of weapons he had on him before he shrugged. “Not really. I just know a lot about medicine.” Subconsciously one of his hands moved up to smooth down his hair, just making sure the pale strands were covering that slight point to his ears, even though he doubted anyone would ever notice. “Why?”

“Would you be willing to make us up some things? We’d pay, of course.” Chanyeol didn’t _seem_ to have an ulterior motive but after that interaction with Baekhyun earlier . . . well, _before_ Taeyong had always been quick to trust, but the way Baekhyun still seemed so nervous, sticking to the other side of the ship, kept him on edge. 

“How do you know I won’t poison you?” Chanyeol blinked, surprised. 

“Would you?” No. Not unless they were a genuine threat to someone, not unless he _had_ to.

“If you’re going to hurt Baekhyun, maybe.” The last thing he’d expected was for a deep, incredulous chuckle to spill from the other’s lips.

“You’d kill for him, huh? Would he do the same for you?” The words were a little less warm but still not unfriendly, just bitter, like he was speaking words of advice — like he was speaking from experience.

“He already has,” he murmured quietly.

“Yeah, and what did he get from it?”

Taeyong was silent for a moment as his heart jerked in his chest, pain radiating through his core as he averted his gaze back to his bag. “He lost everything,” the white-haired male muttered, and Chanyeol didn’t seem to have an answer for that, just staring at him with a surprised look. “Write me a list of what you need and I’ll see what I can do,” Taeyong relented because he’d always been terrible at turning people away, and perhaps a little bit to draw away the attention. “It’ll cost you more because I can’t restock until we land.”

“Of course.”

In a way, Taeyong was surprised that Baekhyun risked making his way across the deck to where they were after Chanyeol had left and returned to his companion — whatever history was there, it was enough to make him obviously nervous. Perhaps even more of a surprise was the fact that Jongin was by his side (apparently he was the lesser evil between Baekhyun and Taemin, who was still standing at the port bow, staring out at the ocean). 

“How are you feeling, Mark?” He asked as he sat down in front of them and reached out to set the back of his palm on Mark’s forehead. He hadn’t thrown up for just over fifteen minutes so Taeyong was willing to bet he was feeling better, a result of the ginger and maybe the fact he’d sending small pulses of healing energy through his palm as they sat there. Ginger _did_ have medicinal uses, but a lot of Mark’s sickness did seem to be stemming from his fear, and making the ginger appear to work better than it did . . . well, he hoped it’d make the long voyage easier. 

“Okay,” the dark-haired male admitted as he leant into the touch rather than pulling away; Taeyong just smiled before turning his gaze to Jongin instead and patting the spot beside him as he moved his bag. Their king shifted a little on his feet before taking a seat and leaning back beside him, gaze focused on his hands where he was . . . fiddling with _something_. Taeyong tried to arch his neck curiously to get a better look but then Jongin just let out a low chuckle and reached over to set it in his hand, eyes curved into half crescents.

“I heard you mention to Taemin that you didn’t find any shells,” he admitted, much to his surprise. Taeyong had mentioned on the way here that he hoped he’d be able to pick one up so that he could take some of their home with him, but he hadn’t let himself be too disappointed when he hadn’t been able to find one, just fragments. “It’s a cowrie — here, if you hold it to your ear,” Jongin explained as he guided him to raise the open portion to his ear, “people say you can hear the ocean, even when you’re home.”

Taeyong didn’t point out he could already hear the ocean because it was surrounding them; instead, he just let a wide grin curl over his lips as warm hands cradled his own and kept it close, closing his ears as he listened. “You remembered,” he spoke with a smile.

“Of course I did.” 

The white-haired male let his eyes flutter open and turned his face so that he could graze their lips together, something sweet and chaste. “Thank you, Jongin. I’ll keep it with me,” he promised as he traced his fingers over the marbled shell before tucking it carefully into the side of his medicine bag, making sure it was wedged between the rolls of fabric he’d packed for bandages — just to be careful. 

“Did you find out where we’ll be sleeping?”

Jongin grimaced a little into the kiss. “We’re sleeping in the cargo hold, but there are blankets. It’ll be . . . cramped.” Ah, so _that_ was why he’d grimaced. Taeyong had to force himself not to laugh as he nodded.

“Don’t worry, you can cuddle up with me.”

“I don’t think we’ll have much of a choice, Yong.”

Cramped was subjective, Taeyong realised that night as they headed down into their new sleeping quarters after a dinner of (surprise) freshly caught fish and rice, and the word he’d prefer to use was cosy. There was definitely room for everyone in his opinion, enough that they wouldn’t really need to cuddle up that close, and there was one makeshift hammock that he certainly didn’t have the guts to sleep in, but he understood Jongin’s choice of words. Cramped, because all of them were in here — it meant it was sort of impossible to avoid each other. 

“So, who’s going for the death trap?” Baekhyun asked loudly as he clapped his hand together. “Not me.”

“I’ll be sick,” Mark nervously chimed.

“I’ll—“

“I think it looks fun,” Taeyong found himself saying even though, truth be told, that was the last place he wanted to sleep; he wanted to sleep wrapped up in blankets and warm bodies, not swinging around with the waves, but Taemin had been about to volunteer himself and . . . no, that wasn’t happening. Ideally, they could all just settle on the floor, but there was far too much tension tonight. He shot Taemin a little smile and gathered his cloak before stepping over where Jongin was already lounging and staring at him like he wanted to argue before carefully easing himself onto the edge.

He almost fell on his face.

Yuta snorted from where he’d been standing by the door watching them, waltzing over and pulling himself up into the hammock with otherworldly ease that Taeyong felt like he’d never quite master. “No offence, but I don’t want to cuddle up for the night,” the dark-haired fae hummed as he crossed his arms behind his head and locked his ankles together. He made it look so _easy_. It was probably for the best because other than Taemin who was probably the only one capable of not falling out as he slept.

Taeyong let out a little huff of air that disturbed his fringe before giving in. Almost instantly hands wrapped around his ankles and dragged him back closer, causing him to stumble down into the mass of blankets; on the way down he grabbed Taemin’s shirt, effectively pulling him down to. At least his reflexes were good for some things. Jongin almost looked a little betrayed when he seemed to realise it meant he was going to have to share his cuddle buddy with Taemin for the night, but he’d get over it.

Taemin was at his back but keeping to himself, and that simply wasn’t going to work.

Taeyong dislodged one of the tanned arms wrapped around him to reach back and tug him closer, not relenting until there was a face tucked into the back of his neck and arms tentatively joining the fray. Jongin let out a huff but had the sense not to argue and just held him tighter like it was some sort of competition. This would have to do — for now.

Somewhere towards their feet, he could feel Mark settling in, and beside him was Baekhyun, who’d seemed tentative at first but had eventually laid down and draped the blanket over them both.

He knew there was bound to be arguments eventually, but for now, he counted it as a win — they were the closest they’d been in months, physically and, in some regards, emotionally too. 

“If anyone snores,” Yuta yawned in the dark, “I’ll gut them — I need my beauty rest.”

Taeyong almost felt like Taemin’s chest rumbled behind him in some semblance of a chuckle. 

-

“Not so fast.”

Ten was rather careful in the way he let out his breath, hands slowly rising into the air and eyes scanning the forest around him as the sharp edge of a blade dug into his throat in warning. Shit. He’d been so fucking _careful_ over the last few days but he’d known that being this close to the border was going to cause even more problems. As he’d feared, Lucas’s antics had drawn more eyes on them than they needed.

It made sense that The Matriarch would send out her Lieshou to deal with the problem, especially if they knew of the rumours that circulated about all the brutal murders and gory scenes which had been set up around the land since they’d arrived. They were Lucas’s people, after all. 

Ten, of course, had heard his own fair share of rumours along the way, including those of the Lieshou he’d been keeping an eye out for — a band of four men who were fierce fighters and should certainly _not_ to be taken lightly. He’d heard that they were good, but he hadn’t realised they were _this_ good, nor that they’d ever be capable of getting the jump on him.

He’d known ever since the later afternoon that he wasn’t the only on Lucas’s trail yet he’d assumed that, like usual, it was a minor hunter that he’d be able to deal with if necessary and certainly not anyone who’d be a real threat to Lucas. Not many things really were. Ten had been very, very wrong in his assumptions. The warlock had realised once the sun went down that whoever was roaming around this forest was of a far higher calibre to any of the men who’d tried to catch his lover before; they moved almost silently, like their feet never even touched the ground, always one step behind him and breathing down the back of his neck. Unwittingly, he’d begun to feel like the hunted, too.

“Now now, there’s no need for this,” Ten finally dared speak as he heard more rustling to his left; he didn’t dare turn and sneak a glance. He made his words as thick with the local dialect as he possibly could in an attempt to sound like a villager who’d simply wandered off into the forest in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I’m just out for—“

“Not so fast,” another voice cut in sharply as a man emerged from a thicket in front of him, dark clothes almost blending into the night and two compact axes hanging from his hands as he strode forward. Ten stopped transferring the energy to his palms when one of the axes was pointed towards him; he could feel no trace of magic on these men, yet somehow they seemed sensitive to it. “We know who you are, foreigner, there’s no point pretending. Why are you tailing the beast? Perhaps you want to bring his head in as a reward?”

Ten almost moved forward before that blade dug a little deeper, just enough to make blood well against polished metal, and the man behind him hissed for him to stay still — he sounded young, but then again so did the one in front of him. “If you touch a hair on his head, I’ll kill you,” Ten spat before he could stop himself. So much for pretending. There were only two here, though, and Lucas was out here somewhere. He couldn’t risk him. “The reward will be the least of your worries if he’s harmed, _Lieshou_. Lucas is under my protection.” 

Ten didn’t _need_ his hands to do magic.

The wind picked up, whipping around them sharply and scattering leaves across the ground as they stared each other down.

“Lucas?” The dark-haired male in front of him spoke slowly as though he was testing the name on his tongue, head cocked, before he let out a low hum. 

“Stop wasting time,” another voice spoke up as a third figure came into view. He was a little shorter and with sharper features, but he looked a little more mature in the way he held himself — more disciplined. He slid the sword he was holding back into the sheath hanging at his back before sparing a glance his way; his eyes reflected in the light. “Is this the one?”

“Yes.”

“Hurry up, then. Kun wants to talk to him.”

Ten didn’t have a chance to speak up before a hand was wrapping around his nap and digging expertly into the sides of his neck. Not only did it make his magic splutter, but after but a second his vision was wavering and he was falling into the darkness.

He was out before he even touched the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _It was probably an overreaction — all he’d done was manipulate both of them and seduce Chanyeol so that, after weeks of a rather difficult job, he'd been able to steal the rather hefty reward right out from under their noses and disappear into thin air._
> 
> _Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been one of his finest moments. It’d been . . . exceptionally cruel, even for him._


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As conflicts are resolved there are more complications onboard, and Lucas struggles to make hard decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another day, another chapter! I hope everyone's enjoying everything so far, even if it's been a bit angsty and rough. It's been a little hard to motivate myself lately just because I've felt so down and conflicted about my writing, but I have some chapters stockpiled so don't worry, updates will still be frequent :)
> 
> (just to be safe)  
> TW for this chapter:  
> \- mentions of addiction, alcoholism + withdrawals  
> \- suicidal thoughts/attempted suicide (not in the way where someone actually wants to die, but in the way where they're trying to save others)

Baekhyun was . . . well, he wasn’t quite sure if nervous was the word for it. It’d already been three days and he hadn’t woken up to a knife at his throat— hell, the fact he’d woken up in general was a miracle honestly. He’d _known_ that coming to Kyungsoo meant stumbling across remnants of his past, but the last thing he’d ever expected was that his luck would be bad enough to put him into an enclosed with space with not only Park Chanyeol, but Oh Sehun as well; there were a lot of people he'd never wanted to run into again, but those two had been at the top of his list.

Fate really was a bitch.

It was probably an overreaction — all he’d done was manipulate both of them and seduce Chanyeol so that, after weeks of a rather difficult job, he'd been able to steal the rather hefty reward right out from under their noses and disappear into thin air.

Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been one of his _finest_ moments. It’d been . . . exceptionally cruel, even for him. Not the seducing someone to steal from them bit, but the Chanyeol bit, because whilst Sehun had been suspicious of him from the start and had only warmed up to him later on, Chanyeol had been so trusting and kind. Genuine, which was not something you’d expect from a man in his line of work. More than stealing their money, toying with his heart was the thing he regretted most, because he hadn’t deserved that.

In hindsight it was probably fair to say that their dislike of him was pretty valid given what he’d done to them, but it— that was his past, now. Baekhyun had once laughed that a leopard could never change its spots, yet here he was.

It was hard to relax in the slightest on the ship, not just because Sehun was always glaring daggers into his back whenever he cleaned that deadly crossbow of his and the fact he was desperately avoiding Chanyeol, who just looked at him with a bitter, cold expression, but because it truly was storm season. The ocean was pretty, but not when each wave rocked the boat and made him feel like he was going to die if he closed his eyes for even a second.

Kyungsoo was the best captain around, though; a lesser man would’ve already gotten them killed in this weather. 

It would’ve been hard enough to deal with all of that on its own, but additionally, he had to tiptoe around Jongin, and then there was the fact that whilst Mark didn’t seem to hate his guts, he didn’t know what was too much, too far — all he could think about was what he’d said that day, about how actions were louder than words.

He was _trying_. 

Last night he’d almost caved again and reached out to take a sip from the bottle of liquor that had been passed around at dinner but all Yuta had done was glance at him and he’d forced himself to pull his hand back. The fae hadn’t told him to stop, nor had he encouraged him. Hell, it didn’t even look like he’d really judge him for it, but he knew what they all thought of him for his reliance on the alcohol. Baekhyun was partial to agreeing that they were right. The first few days of their trip he’d failed each and every day and had found himself with that familiar burn in the back of his throat, because what was just one cup, right?

It was never just _one_.

It wasn’t fucking easy though, not when it meant each day he was being plagued with headaches and nausea and a whole other list of effects that were making his days difficult as his body sweated out the drink. To put it bluntly, he felt like shit; the only good part was that he was too sick to bother arguing with Jongin so things had been fairly calm on that front, thankfully.

“You look like shit.” Baekhyun glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor by the quarter-deck, the shrouds above billowing in the wind. It was fairly cloudy today, yet even the slightest amount of light was making his eyes ache.

“Thanks,” he murmured in response to Jongin, expecting the other male to just continue walking, but instead the silver-haired male seemed to dawdle for a few moments before sitting down by his side, looking out over the main deck. Baekhyun sighed and braced himself for whatever was going to happen.

“I’m serious, Baekhyun. Your hands were shaking this morning and you weren’t subtle when you were throwing your guts up earlier.” Well, he’d _thought_ he was being subtle.

“It’s just some sea-sickness—“

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Jongin snapped, voice loud enough that it bounced around inside his skull and made him wince as he squeezed his eyes shut. “If you’re not feeling well, you would’ve asked Taeyong for something to help — why haven’t you?”

“Maybe because I don’t want anyone to know,” Baekhyun found himself biting back weakly as the pain in his temples pulsed on. “There’s no point getting their hopes up if I fuck up again, okay?” It seemed to take Jongin a little while to put two and two together and realise what he was actually talking about, but when he did his gaze softened and plush lips parted in surprise.

“I didn’t . . .”

“Realise? I don’t blame you,” he mumbled, “everyone’s used to seeing me with a bottle in my hands, now. How pathetic is that?”

“Why are you doing this, if it’s making you sick?”

“I’ve disappointed all of you enough. Besides . . . what use am I to you if I’m a raging drunk all the time? If that’s the case I might as well have gone back.” Not stayed home, but _gone back_ , to the north, where he could drown his sorrows but at least have some company that didn’t look at him like he was a disappointment of the bane of their existence.

Jongin didn’t even grace him with an answer, just clenched his jaw and fists before tearing his gaze away and getting up to storm off. All he could do was sigh and stretch his legs out again as they began to go numb, rolling them around and trying to work it out even if the tingles that came after weren’t overly pleasant. At least they were a distraction from the rest of his current ailments.

From his position here he had a pretty decent view of most of the ship and as Baekhyun’s mind wandered again he found himself idly observing everything. Taemin and Taeyong were seated up as far as they could get on the bow and leant in close; from here it was pretty hard to tell where one ended and the other began, but they seemed to be talking to one another, Taemin watching the younger with a soft, content expression and idly playing with his hair. Mark, much to his chagrin, was near Sehun of all people, talking animatedly while the other barely glanced his way — Yuta was there, too, laying back on the deck in a way that so incredibly carefree as he stared up at the sky, laughing here and there at whatever was being said.

Somewhere behind him, no doubt by the wheel, he could hear Chanyeol. Chanyeol was . . . very different to the lanky boy he remembered. For one, he’d filled out even more and was undeniably now a man, especially with that voice which was somehow even deeper — beyond that, he seemed more reserved, hardened. There were hints of the man he’d once almost dared to consider a friend, though, shown in the way he eagerly talked to his companions over dinner despite the fact they were associated with him, or the way he shared. Even in the way he seemed so utterly taken with Kyungsoo. That was . . . not something he’d ever expected.

Chanyeol had always done everything so wholeheartedly, though, and Baekhyun wished that he hadn’t broken his heart — it was going to be horrible to watch his heart shatter a second time. 

It wasn’t that Baekhyun thought Kyungsoo was cruel, or even that he wouldn’t particularly want Chanyeol, but Kyungsoo had cardinal rules that he never broke, something that was going to be very, very unfortunate for the mercenary. It was bittersweet to watch him follow Kyungsoo around each day and keep him company on deck, talking for hours even if Kyungsoo was more often than not a man of few words. Years ago, Baekhyun would’ve laughed. Now, he, well, he supposed he wished that it could be something; he’d never dared to have friends back then, but if anyone would have been worthy of the title, perhaps they would have — they deserved to be happy.

“Do you really never go ashore, Soo?” _Soo_. Baekhyun could never get away with that.

“You know I don’t, Chanyeol.”

“I know, I just— never? I mean, what if one day you don’t want to sail? Won’t you stay on land then?”

“It’s not up to me,” Kyungsoo answered, voice tight but soft nonetheless.

“Is someone after you?” The shorter male chuckled quietly at that and Baekhyun guessed that he was probably shaking his head, but it didn’t feel right to turn around and pry by watching. 

“You can’t fight the world, Chanyeol; the only day I’ll set foot on land is the day I die.”

Baekhyun’s attention was pulled away from the private conversation when a body fell to sit beside him, again, this time a small vial being pressed into his open hand. “Don’t worry, I didn’t ask Taeyong,” Jongin reassured before he could speak up, his expression something he couldn’t quite place. “I’m no healer, but I did bring some medicine with me,” the king offered in explanation. He almost looked nervous.

“Look, I’m sorry, Baekhyun.” Okay, maybe he was actually hallucinating too — out of all of them, Jongin had always been the one with the shortest fuse, and subsequently the worst temper, and whilst he always did come around and make things right, apologies never were easy for him. Baekhyun sure as hell didn’t expect one. “I’ve been . . . I was so caught up in my own grief and guilt that I never thought about— no, I didn’t _care_ — what anyone else felt. I pushed all of you away and I said things . . . I’ve said horrible things, things I never meant.”

“Jongin—“

“ _No_ ,” Jongin cut him off, but he didn’t sound angry, just pleading. “Just let me say it, okay? I’ve been terrible, to all of you, especially you. You . . . you kept coming back, Baekhyun, you kept _trying_ , and each time I blamed you for leaving when you were only doing it for my sake.”

“This isn’t your fault, Jongin.” The drinking. Taeyong. How things had spiralled. Any of it. All of them had played their part. 

“I didn’t help,” the younger murmured, head hung low. Baekhyun— gods, no matter how much everything had hurt, each sneer and each harsh word, he couldn’t bear to see Jongin like this. “Just have two or three drops every few hours, it should help. I’ll—“

Baekhyun reached out before the other could stand up completely and tugged his ass back down onto the wooden deck, forcing himself not to instinctively pull back when they ended up pressed side to side with Jongin staring at him in shock. “Sit with hyung for a while,” he hummed with a little grin curling at his lips, tone more playful than he’d usually dare. Jongin stared, then blinked, and then he relaxed and offered the faintest of smiles in return.

“Only if you stop calling yourself that. You sound like a creep.”

Baekhyun couldn’t help but laugh.

-

“How much did you see?”

Taemin sighed and turned his head from where he’d been staring out at the swelling waves around them to glance at Yuta. It had been hard to find a moment alone ever since he’d returned — not that he really minded because he’d had enough solitude for a lifetime — but he couldn’t deny he’d been enjoying his little slice of peace for a few minutes. 

Besides, Yuta was an unknown factor. Even knowing what he now did, it was hard to decide what to make of the fae which had returned with Taeyong.

“Is this one of the questions?” Yuta seemed to consider it for a half-moment before nodding.

“Enough to know that you’re not a threat to Taeyong.” Admittedly, the flashes of memories that Taeyong had been able to share with him were exactly that: flashes. Brief, overwhelming, certainly not enough for him to really focus on, just enough for him piece together and get some semblance of an explanation for where he’d been and what had happened, both before and after his . . . death. “Enough to know that Sehun probably didn’t get food poisoning that first night,” he added, lips twitching ever so slightly.

Yuta wasn’t so subtle and just grinned as he leant against the railing, his own eyes flickering back out to the sea. “Mark’s a sweetheart,” he offered in explanation, “and Taeyong wasn’t happy about him being an asshole. Figured he deserved a taste of his own medicine.”

“You know, he thinks Taeyong did it. It’d probably pay to be more . . . discrete . . . considering our company,” Taemin pointed out even though he couldn’t deny he’d found the situation rather amusing. He didn’t trust these two mercenaries they were travelling with, even if it seemed they weren’t a problem, and after Sehun’s comments it’d been far too gratifying to see him hurling over the side of the boat.

Yuta was odd. He was fae, but he was so different from Taeyong, so different from the man that’d made their lives a living nightmare for the sake of power. Taemin was starting to think that perhaps he wasn’t too half bad, and besides, having a powerful ally around who would protect Taeyong — and by extension those he cared about, it seemed — was nothing to frown upon. 

He often kept to himself yet also seemed to enjoy their company when he chose it, filling empty space and inserting himself into their conversations in a way that never really felt like an intrusion; he was incredibly powerful, but he’d never done anything to make himself appear as a threat even though it’d be so incredibly easy. At times, he almost seemed human. He could be carefree and jovial yet in a split second he’d look every bit the otherworldly creature he was, eyes dark and lips pressed into a thin like he had yesterday when Sehun had shot down a crow which, for some reason, had flown out this far and was weakly flapping its wings. Yuta had looked like he’d wanted to rip his spine out as he’d scooped up the bird, arrow sticking neatly from its chest. Taemin still wasn’t sure where he’d taken the bird, but Sehun had been smart enough not to ask. 

“Any other questions?”

Yuta grinned, the look a little devious but by no means malicious. “So many. I’ll come back to the wings, but your magic — how does it work? I’ve never met a demon before.” Perhaps Taemin chuckled just a little.

-

Jongin wasn’t really sure how he felt about this, okay? Baekhyun had been . . . understandably reluctant to answer his question about how he knew their mercenary companions, and he didn’t blame him for that — he knew that out of all his lovers Jongin had always had a little bit of a jealous streak, something that Ten had always teased was due to his early years growing up as a pampered prince. 

“I was a handsome boy,” Baekhyun had chuckled nervously, “and I used that to my advantage. A lot.” It wasn’t even that he didn’t know that— he _did_ , very well, better than most in fact. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the first time they’d met Baekhyun had peered up at him through thick lashes and wooed him with thick promises until he’d been so distracted and flustered that he hadn’t realised his money pouch being taken. Jongin would never forget how they’d all laughed at him, though.

He’d regained a little bit of his shattered pride by catching his flirtatious thief the next day and getting their money back, but they’d all fallen a little under Baekhyun’s spell — save for Ten, who’d been far too skilled at the same games. It’d started as one shared meal, but one day he’d just realised that Baekhyun had never really left. For the first few weeks, plenty of things had gone missing during long nights, but eventually, as the months passed, those things had occurred less and less and small things that’d disappeared on their travels would return to their packs secretly. Somewhere along the way, Baekhyun had learned to trust them, to feel _safe_.

“So you slept with them?” He’d asked after a few moments, flustering the elder a little.

“No— I mean, yes, I slept with Chanyeol a few times, but that’s not why . . . I hung around for the money and then skipped town with their reward when it suited me. I think Chanyeol _might_ have been in love with me.” It was sort of funny. Sort of. Except for the fact that Jongin’s monkey brain instantly started comparing himself to the man in question, who was taller and broader, but that didn’t matter, right? Surely he was far more handsome than Chanyeol, with his . . . his . . . 

Ears?

Okay, so _maybe_ Chanyeol was also very handsome, but it didn’t matter. Baekhyun had told him that Chanyeol had been in loved with _him_ , not vice versa, so there was nothing to worry himself over, and certainly not so soon after they’d begun some sort of belated reconciliation. It was childish, anyway, to be jealous of an ex-lover — a spurned ex-lover, at that, and his friend.

Didn’t stop Jongin from watching the pair with narrowed eyes as he helped Kyungsoo haul in the nets they’d thrown over for dinner, each movement a little more forceful and aggressive than necessary. He yanked a little earlier and harder than he was supposed to and made Kyungsoo let out a grunt when he had to bear the force of it, dark eyes shooting his way with obvious disapproval. “Do you have something against sea bass, now?” The shorter male grumbled out as he yanked on the net with more force than Jongin had been anticipating and returned the favour of making him stumble.

“What?”

“I just assumed you must really hate fish, considering the sour look on your face.” It took him a moment to register the sarcasm laced into those words as Kyungsoo focused on untangling another fish from the mess of the net and dumping it into the trough. 

“I— no,” the king mumbled after a few seconds before going back to helping, yet only a minute or so later he found his gaze drifting again, this time meeting Sehun who was watching him with a shrewd little look that he’d grown to hate over the last few days. It made his hackles rise like some street mutt, his own gaze sharpening as his shoulders tensed and he paused in his duties.

There was a sharp blow to the side of his head, just enough to startle him and hurt a little.

“What the hell?” Jongin certainly didn’t _whine_ as he whirled around and rubbed his temple, eyes wide and lips parted as he noticed the way that Kyungsoo was glaring at him.

“Don’t go starting fights on my ship, I don’t tolerate violence here!”

“But you just hit me!”

“My ship, my rules.” Jongin couldn’t fathom how that was fair in the slightest, but really, was he in a position to argue? Not at all. All he could do was cradle his head and pout as he desperately tried to ignore the snickers from across the ship.

“There’s no point in being jealous, Jongin; I’ve known Baekhyun since we were teenagers,” Kyungsoo spoke up after a few moments of silence. “I’ve never seen him this serious about anything, certainly not Chanyeol — we all knew what he was up to but Chanyeol didn’t want to see it. He was in love with the _idea_ of Baekhyun.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He told me so,” the shorter male said plainly. He seemed determined to focus on his work rather than meeting Jongin’s gaze, and there was something in his expression that . . . well, Jongin simply didn’t know him well enough to even begin to decipher it. He was a complicated man, Doh Kyungsoo, that he knew at least. “They were young and stupid,” a pause, “well, they’re still stupid, but they’ve grown up a bit since then. Don’t tell Baekhyun I said that. Either way . . . just ask Chanyeol, if you’re that caught up on it.”

He couldn’t just go and ask, could he?

Perhaps he could, but more than that, did he need to? For so long he’d twisted Baekhyun’s words and actions to fit his own narrative of guilt and self-pity, and it’d led to so much doubt, doubt that still tickled at the back of his mind despite himself. It wasn’t so much a question of if he could, was it? But if he trusted Baekhyun.

That night, Jongin found himself falling down into the mess of bodies and found himself moving away from his safety net to drape himself over Baekhyun, head pillowed on his shoulder and an arm wrapped around the elder to reach to his side, where Mark was cuddled close and already drifting off after a hearty dinner. He knew Baekhyun was likely a little shocked by his sudden change of sleeping habits, but thankfully he didn’t protest; instead, the elder melted into it after a few moments and wrapped an arm around him to rub over his back, face buried in his hair. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this, which meant it’d been far too long.

“Baekhyun?” He hummed quietly, earning a hesitant, non-verbal grunt in response. “I’m better than him, right?” Baekhyun had probably been expecting a barrage of questions, so the relief that flowed into the laughter that bubbled from his chest wasn’t really a surprise, but the laughter itself still made Jongin huff and pinch his nipple through his shirt. It was a low blow when he knew both of Baekhyun’s arms were occupied.

“Ow— christ, Jongin,” the pale-haired male hissed through his chuckles, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. It was a little humiliating yet Jongin found himself deciding it was worth it to see the mirth flickering in his gaze. “Yes, you’re better,” he placated as he scratched at his scalp. “You know there’s nothing to worry about, right? I’m all yours.”

“I know,” Jongin replied softly, lips curving into a hidden smile.

“Besides,” Mark spoke up in slurred words from where Jongin had thought he was asleep, “Sehun-hyung said that Chanyeol is in love with Kyungsoo, anyway—“

“ _Mark._ ”

-

Taeyong stood on the bow of the ship, eyes closed despite the fact it was dark save for the light of the moon reflecting off the waves, wind ghosting gently over his skin. It was different, out here — freeing in a way he’d never experienced before, but he couldn’t deny he was counting down the days until they’d land and he could touch soil again. He missed the energy which resonated in his bones on land. Only two more days, now; it was storm season which meant that a trip which would usually take only seven or so days, six in ideal weather, had already taken almost nine. It was vexing. Even with the wind on their side the entire way the vicious weather kept slowing their journey. 

There was a steady thrum in his bones which wouldn’t be dampened until he saw Ten and Lucas again with his own eyes.

The sound of soft rustling filled his ears over the rhythmic creaking of the ship and he smiled to himself, eyes fluttering open when the wooden planks shifted in front of him. “Did I wake you when I left?”

Taeyong shook his head and reached out until Taemin stepped closer, glorious wings shaking themselves off before folding to rest against his back as he burrowed into his chest for warmth. They said it was rather humid out here on the sea, but he’d found that since his body had changed he was always a little cooler, always seeking out hands to warm his own or someone to sap warmth from, especially when the sun went down. It was nothing worth asking Yuta about — just another thing he’d have to adjust to. 

“I wasn’t really asleep,” he admitted as he pressed a kiss to Taemin’s jaw. He’d never understood how the elder could go for days without rest until now, where laying down each night didn’t automatically lead to sleep, often resulting in him drifting into his thoughts for hours at a time as he watched over everyone. Sometimes he wondered if he was just scared to close his eyes and wake up without them. 

“Is it nice up there? Flying?”

“Mm. I haven’t been able to stretch my wings since we boarded,” Taemin hummed and pulled back just a little to watch him, eyes shimmering; his pupils were still rather vertical like this, surrounded by luminescent gold, but in the dark, they were broader. “It’s . . . hard to explain. Would you like to try?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” the white-haired male laughed softly, “I do _not_ have wings.”

“But I do.” It was a clear offer, one that made his eyes widen a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Taemin not to drop him — he trusted the warlock with his life — but the prospect was still rather nerve-racking. 

“I don't know,” he wavered, but Taemin just grinned and tossed his hair back before tugging him even closer, shifting backwards so they were fairly clear of the sails even as Taeyong playfully struggled against his grip. “Don’t you dare,” he breathed out as he felt muscles coil to take flight, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Time slowed. First, a creak of wood; second, the shifting of metal and the twang of a release; third, the whistling of something through the air. 

Taeyong ripped himself away so quickly no human could’ve been able to track the motion with their eyes, power surging off him and shaking the whole ship as Sehun was sent flying back against the door he’d snuck out of with a loud _thud_ , the arrow he’d shot from his crossbow hovering in the air, maybe an inch or two in front of them, aimed directly at Taemin’s head.

His body trembled with the energy coursing through him — the rage, the need to protect. The strength was utterly intoxicating, and so was the fear and realisation on Sehun’s face when he shifted his hand and the arrow mimicked the action, turning to face the man who’d shot it before surging forward.

“Taeyong,” a voice snapped, loud and firm.

Taeyong stopped himself when the arrow was mere centimetres from Sehun’s forehead, shaking in the air as he fought back against that power whispering in his ear, trying to urge him to let go. Yuta strode forward from the shadows of the ship just as he heard it come alive, bodies rushing out onto deck; before Taeyong could manage to force his magic down he stepped in and curled his fingers around the arrow to pull it away. It was like a rubber band, snapping back against him.

The white-haired fae stumbled into Taemin’s chest behind him and almost fell before he was steadied, wings half curled like they were ready to shield him.

“I told you if you hurt them I’d kill you,” he managed in a wobbly tone, chest heaving. Oddly, he wanted to cry.

“I was trying to save you,” Sehun snapped as he pushed himself up from the ground, obviously shaken, and snatched his arrow back from Yuta’s outstretched hand. “I thought you were being dragged off by some monster. Obviously I was _wrong_.”

“Is that what you think we are?” Yuta asked, sounding curious as he cocked his head. “Monsters?” Sehun’s hand seemed to gravitate towards the knife at his waist since his bow was on the other side of the deck, eyes never leaving Yuta who was only a few feet away, and Taeyong could hear the hammering of his heart in his chest.He was _scared_.

“Sehun,” Chanyeol’s deep voice broke through the tension, sounding a little angry and a little like he was trying to calm him down as he stepped between him and Yuta. Maybe it had something to do with the fact his shirt was on backwards. “Apologise.”

“But they—“

“We hunt monsters,” Chanyeol spoke as he turned back to face them, looking a little wary, but perhaps only because of the fact that Taemin looked so obviously inhumane in the movement, or because despite the fact the sea was reasonably calm the ship was still groaning and rolling like there was a storm. Taeyong had to keep breathing to try and soothe his power, slowly lessening until the cloying energy in the air faded. “Sometimes they’re human,” he explained, “but sometimes they’re not. I’m sure you can see this was a misunderstanding. We weren’t aware that our company were . . . different.”

Jongin snorted.

Kyungsoo, who looked incredibly annoyed, stepped forward and clipped Sehun up the side of the head. “No fighting on my ship,” he scolded, but left it at that. Then, his eyes snapped to them. “Stand down. I don’t appreciate the secrets, either.”

“Taemin,” Baekhyun intervened, still rubbing his eyes. “Taeyong — let’s just calm down, yeah? Sehun might be difficult, but he wouldn’t have tried to kill him if he’d known who it was. Why don’t we all just go back to sleep, talk it out in the morning? No harm done.”

Taeyong let out a shaky breath before nodding. As the fear and rage began to subside he was overwhelmed by the gravity of what he’d almost just done. If Yuta hadn’t been here . . . gods. “I’m so sorry, Sehun,” he managed to get out as he stepped forward, away from Taemin. Sehun eyed him warily but didn’t dismiss him. “We didn’t know if we could trust you with the truth and we didn’t want any trouble, just safe passage. You . . .you caught me off guard and I panicked.” The dark-haired male stared at him for a few long moments before nodding slowly.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but he was grateful for the sentiment.

-

Lucas woke up to the taste of blood in his mouth and instantly rolled onto his side to wretch. His stomach convulsed as everything he’d eaten was expelled from his body in painful waves, his nose and throat burning and tears streaming down his cheeks. After a few minutes, he collapsed with a shudder. He didn’t dare open his eyes until he was turned away from the pile of vomit, not game enough to see what it consisted of, even after all the horrors he’d seen.

(He knew what was in there. He could remember each scream, each plea for mercy; could recall with such clarity the feeling of flesh giving way between his hands and the scent of blood that’d filled the air and made them crow.

He was exhausted as he dragged himself up into a sitting position and wiped at his face, gaze a little blurry before it focused on the forest around him and allowed him to take in his scenery. It was so peaceful, here — so serene. It felt like a mockery of the truth. 

It took him a few moments to realise that he actually recognised his surroundings, though; the moment he did, Lucas was overcome by a complicated cocktail of emotions. For one, part of him was overwhelmed by the prospect of being home after so many years — overjoyed, even — while another part of him was absolutely fucking terrified. Gods, he— he had to leave. The last time he’d been even mildly sentient they’d been at least a week away from the border yet now that he was conscious and standing he realised this was the meadow they’d often played in as children.

There, in the centre of the clearing, was the large willow tree that they’d always frolicked around, and as he stumbled his way over he couldn’t help the choked out sob that left him when he saw the faint carvings in the trunk. They were much further up than he remembered after years of growth, but he could still trace his fingers over the marks — their names. Lucas could still remember the day Kun had carefully inscribed the characters into the wood so clearly, as though it was yesterday.

He could also remember that only last night, the Lieshou had been on his trail.

Lucas turned and let himself sink back down to sit on the forest floor as he dragged his sword over by the hilt, resting it across his lap. Despite the blood that it had shed, the blade was clean, glimmering in the early morning light. He must have cleaned it. It was pristine enough that he could see his reflection in shining metal, hair stuck up in every which direction and a smear by the corner of his mouth that . . . he swallowed thickly and wiped it away. His eyes were brown — his. 

Not for the first time, he tried to will himself to bring that blade to his own skin.

He’d known from the start that it was cruel to ever ask Ten to put him down if things came to this — if he was too weak to control it — and even crueller when he _knew_ that Ten would never be able to kill him. He was capable, of course, but he . . . he wouldn’t. Ten would do anything to bring him back, no matter what it meant.

Lucas gritted his teeth together and stumbled to his feet. He had to lean against the trunk of the tree for support as he turned the blade around and grasped it firmly, the point pressing against his skin through the material of his shirt as he braced himself. He was just over an hour into Weishen territory, if his memory served him correctly — just over a day and he knew he’d be trying to kill the people who’d always be his family. Maybe they’d be able to kill him if he was lucky, but he . . . he didn’t want their last memory of him to be _this_.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” Lucas sobbed through clenched teeth as he pressed the tip a little deeper, hands trembling. He’d always been brave, but it wasn’t because he was fearless; no, he was very, very scared of dying. He had so much left to live for. “I won’t let you touch them.”

_You’re bluffing. I know how we think, little boy — you’re too much of a coward to do it, even with their lives on the line._

“I’m not,” he bit back, voice wavering. Lucas grasped the blade tighter.

_Prove it._

Lucas’s hands faltered for a few moments as his resolve crumbled and then he let out a choked noise, turning his gaze skyward and focusing on the sparrows which flitted around the top of the willow tree, the way the light filtered through hanging branches. It was a beautiful sight, and he could almost imagine they were by his side, like this.

His muscles rippled as he yanked his hands forward, the blade piercing through flesh.

_Do you really think it’s that easy, little boy? That I’d let us do such a thing when I’m having so much fun?_

Lucas’s body convulsed as the few centimetres of the blade which had sliced into his abdomen was pulled out, blood wiped on the leg of his pants. “You don’t get to decide when it’s the end, unfortunately,” he drawled, foreign words spilling from his own lips as his vision clouded again. He wanted to scream as dark shadows began to whip around him, shadows which whispered his name over and over and over—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _“Don’t you walk away from me, Lee Taemin!” he snapped. Taemin didn’t snap back at him, didn’t even raise his voice — in fact, when he turned on his heel, slowly, to look back at him, his expression was an even mask. His eyes burnt, though, with a cocktail of fierce emotion, dark pits that seemed to stare right into his very soul. Taemin had never looked at him like this, like he was truly enraged._
> 
> _“Is that an order, Your Majesty?” ___


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magic struggles to defy nature as a heavy storm rocks the ship and things finally boil over; Ten realises that, just maybe, he'd not alone as he thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another day, another chapter, except today we earn the E rating :)
> 
> content warnings for this chapter:  
> \- very consensual sex, but between two people who start off arguing and not in the best mindset/misunderstandings  
> \- very brief mentions of alcoholism
> 
> I feel like it's obvious enough that fictional sex scenes should not be interpreted as anything remotely realistic (like any of this is lmao) but nonetheless, p l e a s e never use anything other than proper lube ksks they're just nasty bois

They’d encountered storms on their journey — in fact, to be completely honest, the weather at sea had never been completely calm ever since they’d departed their homeland, but this, _this_ was by far the worst one. Perhaps it was supposed to be a sign but Jongin wasn’t partial to that idea; if gods did exist, if they had some semblance of power over the world and their lives, he couldn’t imagine one which wouldn’t support their plight. No, this was just the power of nature, as fearsome and terrifying as it was.

Despite the fact it was mid-afternoon the sun was completely obscured by the opaque, dark clouds hanging overhead; barely any light managed to filter through them, and yet somehow the thunder managed to rumble across the sky even louder than the vicious crashing of waves around them. Jongin had been in storms, yet he’d never seen waves so big, monolithic in the way they dwarfed their ship. He’d never witnessed anything like this, even greater than the monumental feats of magic he’d seen over the years.

In a way, he was sort of grateful that last night their secrets had been laid out in the open.

Jongin was hunkered in a nook underneath the edge of the quarter-deck, Mark tucked closely into his side even as waves splashed up and surged overboard, drenching them head to toe with salty water which burnt his eyes and throat like acid. They were all trying to keep the ship upright and sailing despite the elements, but they . . . they were only human.

Most of them, at least. 

Even as the storm raged around them, three figures stood in the middle of the main deck, huddled close even as wave after wave washed over them, almost knocking them off balance. If Jongin thought it was any safer in another part of the ship, he would’ve dragged them back there when this all started.

Jongin could not hear a single word they were saying over the storm — hell, he could barely even hear Mark who was beside him —so he had no idea of what they were actually doing other than the fact even he could feel the surges of magic rolling off them. He could see the way it sliced through the waves, the way it rippled through the air, the way it seemed to be a collective force that was coming from all of them. It was Yuta who’d surged forward from below deck when the storm worsened with no regard for his own safety first, but he’d shouted over the roar of the storm for Taeyong, then Taemin.

Overhead, the dark pattern of a crow circled their ship, its cries lost to the wind. 

Jongin thought for a moment that he heard Taemin shout something but it was unintelligible — he certainly didn’t get a chance to brace himself when he another wave of magic slammed outwards from the trio, far more potent. It all but pinned them to the wood that was behind them and knocked Chanyeol, who’d been trying to work his way across deck to steady one of the sails, flat onto the deck below. The whole ship _trembled_ under the strain.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jongin closed his eyes and prayed.

No matter the magic they had on their side, they were far from invincible; it took hours before the storm eased even a little, which meant hours of them holding on for dear life, convinced that each and every second that passed might well indeed be their last. Eventually, the sun started to break through the clouds overhead, shining down on soaked wood and making it sparkle under the light like golden drops. It was beautiful.

Taeyong had been unconscious by the time they managed to get to them, slumped against the others where they’d dropped down to their knees sometime during the storm; it was Baekhyun and Mark who’d carried him back down below deck once they were sure that they were through the worst of everything.

“He’ll be fine,” Yuta had rasped as he’d been helped to his feet, looking weaker than he’d ever seen the dark-haired male. “He’s just exhausted.”

Exhausted felt like an understatement even though Jongin didn’t have a better word. Even Taemin looked just as drained as he had that first day he returned, and okay, maybe Jongin would never understand the magic that flowed through their veins completely, but he knew that what they’d done today had to have been incredibly taxing. Thwarting threats of the human or magical kind was one thing, but the elements? Gods.

“What are you doing?” Taemin paused with his back still turned to him, steam rising from the large pot of water that his hands were resting on. 

“Hot towels,” the warlock murmured after a few seconds of silence; his voice was quiet and strained like even those words took the utmost effort to get out. “Taeyong will need them.” Jongin couldn’t help the way his fingers curled into pale fists, jaw clenching as he took another step forward to grab one of Taemin’s arms and pull it back from the pot.

“Stop,” he hissed, only repeating the action when Taemin once again tried to use his magic. “You should be resting, you idiot, not wasting more energy.”

The dark-haired male did finally glance his way but his expression was so . . . defeated was one word for it, certainly, but there was a bittersweet curl to his lips too. “Resting won’t make me feel better, Jongin. We both know that,” he murmured as he focused back onto heating the water. “The sooner Taeyong wakes up and feels better, the sooner he can transfer me some of his energy.” Transfer? Rather than . . . 

“Why not just ask someone?” Jongin huffed out, frustrated. “You don’t gain anything from being stubborn.” That seemed to hit a nerve.

“Would it make you happy if I went and asked? If I fed off Mark, off Baekhyun — off any of them?” There was a fire in Taemin’s gaze despite the exhaustion that laced every movement as he turned to face him properly. “You have every reason to despise my presence after everything that happened and I don’t blame you for any of it, but do we have to do this right _now_? After everything that’s happened today?” The last time they’d argued (or, rather, when Jongin had yelled and screamed), he’d craved nothing more than for Taemin to be _angry_ , to fight back, and now that he was . . . Jongin wanted nothing more than for it to end.

He wasn’t trying to judge Taemin, nor was he trying to torment him, punish him for any of it, he just— gods, he didn’t know how to make things right and make Taemin understand that he didn’t mean any of those words he’d said.

Jongin had always been so bad at apologising. When his answer didn’t come instantly and he just stared as he tried to grasp for words, Taemin’s lips curled unpleasantly and he turned away to storm out of the room. 

“Don’t you walk away from me, Lee Taemin!” he snapped. Taemin didn’t snap back at him, didn’t even raise his voice — in fact, when he turned on his heel, slowly, to look back at him, his expression was an even mask. His eyes burnt, though, with a cocktail of fierce emotion, dark pits that seemed to stare right into his very soul. Taemin had never looked at him like this, like he was truly enraged.

“Is that an order, _Your Majesty_?” He asked in a smooth voice as he took a step forward to close some of the distance between them. If it was anyone else he would’ve been scared by what he saw. Jongin’s throat bobbed and he simply stood his ground, heart hammering in his chest like a hummingbird. He wanted to speak up and make things right, but as he stared at Taemin he was overwhelmed by the tightness in his chest and the heat that pooled in his stomach.

“That’s what I thought,” the other grunted and finally made a move to step back.

Jongin did the first thing that came to mind and surged forward to crash their lips together. 

Surprisingly, Taemin did _not_ pull back; instead, fingers dug into the flesh of his waist and pulled him impossibly closer as teeth and tongue met his own, heat bubbling in the space between him as the warlock knocked him back towards one of the benches in the alley of the kitchen. Idly, the silver-haired male heard the lock on the door click as his hips roughly hit the edge of the table and Taemin settled between his thighs, licking into his mouth like a man starved.

“Hurry,” Jongin demanded into their kiss as he fumbled clammy hands between them to rip at the soaked material of Taemin’s shirt, desperately trying to get at the warm skin underneath. Taemin just let out a half purr against his lips. Wet clothes were shed so quickly that he barely even had time to think, though he did realise that they were mostly his own save for the fact he had succeeded in chucking the other’s shirt somewhere to the side before they’d been pressed chest to chest again.

Jongin couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so . . . well, frenzied. This was all desperation, from the frantic pace of their movements to the way hands greedily roamed over his body, as though trying to map out each and every bit of skin; if this was what Taemin needed, he could give him this. 

Teeth sunk into his bottom lip just enough to sting. “You’ll regret this.” 

“You don’t make decisions for me,” the king gritted back as he shoved his hand unceremoniously down the front of the other’s pants once he’d managed to get through the laces, fingers wrapping firmly around the other’s cock and groaning breathily into his mouth. It’d been so, so long since they’d been together like this.

The first time he’d slept with Taemin, Taemin had edged him for hours until he’d cried and begged for release; the second, he hadn’t been able to walk for days. The third, the fourth, the fifth— somewhere along the way it changed from physical release to a craving for something more; from fucking to making love. 

Given the nature of their relationship, it was to fair to say that they’d always had a rather adventurous sex life, even if Taemin often liked to sit back and watch, tell them what to do to each other rather than actively participate. As much as Jongin loved that, he’d missed this, too. Taemin’s hands on his skin. His lips. That feeling of a burning erection pressed insistently against his hand, just for him.

“Fuck me,” he breathed. No matter how much he wanted to take his time and savour this he knew that wasn’t that Taemin needed. He didn’t need Jongin trying to take him apart and whispering sweet words in his ear; he didn’t need love; he needed lust. Jongin could certainly give him his fill. 

Rather than a verbal response Taemin just let out a noise that wasn’t entirely human and wrenched him back in when he moved to turn and lean over the bench, keeping them nose to nose and hiking Jongin’s hips around his waist. “No,” Taemin hissed back as one hand reached out to blindly grab a small jar from the bench — Jongin would probably be affronted later to realise it was cooking grease — and was quick to reach back down between their bodies to prod slicked fingers at his entrance. It’d been a while, certainly long enough that two fingers were enough to have him groaning and tilting his head back as his fingers dug paths into the other’s back, but he savoured every second of it. He’d always liked it like this, after all.

“ _More_.”

“Your Majesty doesn’t get to make any demands right now.” Jongin’s cock twitched against his stomach and trailed fluid over the muscles there as shocks ran up his spine. When was the last time he’d had anyone treat him like this? Years ago, maybe. 

“Hurry up and fuck me—“

Taemin cut off his words with a sharp bite to the meat of his shoulder that was likely just enough to bruise. It was effective, given the way his words trailed into a moan and his body tightened impossibly around Taemin’s fingers. He almost wanted to cry when long digits slid free of him, leaving him feeling empty and open in a way that was so utterly shameful, yet so fucking hot. “No,” the warlock murmured as he soothed the bite with gentle caresses of his lips, the hands on his waist no longer as bruising but still firm to hold him still as the flushed head of his cock nudged against his entrance, sliding over sensitive skin with ease. Teasing.

“If I wanted to fuck someone,” Taemin spoke quietly as his hips slowly pressed forward and drew a gasp from him, “I would’ve done it already. I just wanted _you_.” Jongin didn’t really have time to focus on that — the fact that yes, their bond didn’t stop Taemin from being with people for pleasure, just meant he couldn’t feed, and that that wasn’t what any of this was about — when that scorching length was inch by glorious inch working its way inside him. It felt like it was straddling the line of too much, the sensation so overwhelming that all he could do was moan and hold onto the other for dear life. 

They didn’t lose themselves in a blur, not like he’d expected. There was no harshness behind any of those touches anymore, not that there’d ever really been from the start, just an intense warmth that was almost overwhelming in the way it wrapped around him — it flowed through each touch, each kiss, each gentle caress of his skin that was almost reverent as hips rolled skilfully against his own. It’d been a very, very long time since Jongin had ever had anyone take him apart like this. Usually, that was his job, whether he was grinding himself into Lucas or showing Mark the best way to angle his hips and littering him with praise when he did it right.

Perhaps it should’ve felt odd — the silence that hung in the air when they didn’t use words to fill it, instead letting the slick sounds of skin on skin and ragged, breathy moans speak for themselves. Jongin’s hands trailed from broad shoulders to instead tangle into dark strands of hair that were still damp from the storm, hot breath washing over his face as the other focused on purposeful short, sharp thrusts of his cock that had him all but melting into a puddle in his arms. 

This was what he’d missed — not the sex, though he’d be a fool not to enjoy it — but the intimacy, the way Taemin looked at him like he was something special, the way he was so reverent with every touch, the way those eyes glowed golden as he fed on Jongin’s own desire and love for him like he couldn’t control himself. 

Jongin wasn’t good with apologies and often failed when it came to words, but he didn’t need them now.

“I’m—“

Taemin was so in tune with his desire that he didn’t even have to speak for the other to understand him as one warm palm smoothed over the rippling muscles of his stomach before cupping the head of his cock, rolling it over in his hand and smearing the pre-cum that’d gathered there over his length. It was just enough to push him over the edge. The wave that’d been cresting inside him finally crashed over his body, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through him like the storm they’d survive only hours prior as his whole body convulsed. 

“That’s it,” Taemin purred, the air quivering around them as his own hips stuttered, pelvis pressed firmly into his own; dark strands of hair brushed his own forehead as Taemin rested his temple against his own with a shuddering breath.

The moment didn’t fade, per se, but as he half reclined there on the kitchen bench with Taemin between his thighs, he did slowly start to come down from the high which had filled his body — he still felt like he was floating, but he was starting to _think_. All Jongin could do was savour this whilst he could and wait for Taemin to withdraw from him which was, in hindsight, probably what he deserved after everything.

After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Taemin pulled back a little and smoothed Jongin’s hair now-dry back off his forehead tenderly and adjusted them so that he could pull out. Jongin didn’t wince, but it was . . . not the most pleasant feeling, to suddenly fell so empty, nor to have the warmth he’d been enjoying pull away from him. It felt so clearly like a dismissal, until Taemin pressed a kiss to his chest where his heart lay, then his stomach, then sunk down to his knees and laid another to the skin of his thigh as he peered up with slit-pupils. Despite the nature of his eyes, his expression was so incredibly soft.

“You fed,” Jongin murmured quietly, a lump caught in his throat.

“I did,” Taemin confirmed in a low hum and shifted to graze his lips a little higher with hands smoothing up the outside of his thighs. He just stared quietly as though he was waiting for permission.

_Oh_.

Jongin swallowed thickly as his throat cleared and he couldn’t fight the warmth and rush of affection that bubbled up in his chest. It’d never really been about feeding, had it? Even for him. 

“Go ahead,” he offered as nonchalantly as he could despite the smile that pulled at his lips, legs shifting so that the curve of his knees hung over Taemin’s shoulders, “we’ve already defiled the kitchen, and I could go for more.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” his warlock purred as teeth sunk into his skin. Jongin found that, this time, he didn’t mind the title.

-

“You’ll be happy,” Yuta grumbled when Taeyong’s eyes finally fluttered open, sitting a few feet away and leaning against the wall with a disgruntled expression, arms crossed. It took him a moment to register that the fingers carding through his hair were Baekhyun’s and that the plush pillow was his thighs. He couldn’t help but to let out a pleased little hum and lean into it.

“Why?” He managed, voice hoarse even though he felt a lot better than he had before he’d rather suddenly lost consciousness. 

“Please never _feed_ Taemin anywhere near me,” was all the other fae graced him with. Taeyong was ashamed that it took him a few moments to really register what he meant because hell, he’d fed Taemin numerous times, once with him a few feet away; he didn’t mean a transfer of energy, though, he meant _feeding_. Baekhyun was right here, though, and Mark was swaddled up in blankets a few feet away looking a little red, which meant . . .

“Gods— don’t _smile,_ you got to sleep through it. The noise was bad enough, Taeyong, but the energy was— _please_. Never again,” Yuta whined with a pout that made him look like every bit the young man he seemed rather than some old, fantastical being. All Taeyong could do was laugh, even when Baekhyun (who seemed to be fighting back his own chuckles, but failing miserably) murmured that Kyungsoo was going to have their heads for messing with his things.

-

Baekhyun had never thought (or, rather, he’d prayed to everything that could possibly be out there that it wouldn’t happen) that his past and present lives would ever collide. Now . . . now he was wondering why the prospect had been so terrifying. Despite the things he’d endured, there were aspects of his past which weren’t terrible, even things he looked back on fondly, like Kyungsoo, like the time he’d spent with Sehun and Chanyeol _before_ things had gone to shit. That’d been his fault, of course. 

Watching Jongin and Chanyeol spar on the main deck as Sehun showed Mark how to use his crossbow felt like a surreal experience. Seeing _Kyungsoo_ watch them all with an expression that Baekhyun knew well enough to read as something fond only added to it. He never thought something like this could ever happen. Baekhyun had been running from his past for so long that he just . . . hadn’t ever stopped to wonder whether it was something he truly needed to escape.

Maybe it’d be better to just embrace it.

“I hope you’re ready for him to act like a child when Chanyeol beats him,” Taemin spoke up quietly from where he was perched beside him on one of the bannisters, dark hair shining blue-black in the midday sun.

“Jongin might win,” Baekhyun countered with a chuckle, but he knew both the men in question and whilst Jongin was an incredible fighter . . . well, there was a reason that Chanyeol and Sehun were so sought after. “And if he doesn’t, it’s nothing a bit go ego-stroking can’t fix. Besides,” he hummed, “he seemed like he’s in a very good mood. Glowing, even.”

Taemin snorted and reached out to shove him, but the touch was so gentle it barely moved him and Baekhyun definitely didn’t miss the fond little smile which flashed over his features. If Jongin was glowing then Taemin looked positively _radiant_ , both physically and literally; for the first time since he’d returned to them, he looked not only sated but incredibly well-fed, no doubt a result of yesterday. Baekhyun couldn’t begin to describe just how much of a relief it had been to see them both curled up together last night — worth the way Kyungsoo had threatened them all this morning to let them starve.

It was definitely a reminder of the fact they were all a little pent-up, though; not like it was easy to have time alone on a small ship, especially not when they slept in the same space as a cock-blocking fae who Baekhyun was starting to think was doing it on purpose sometimes.

“You seem happy today, too,” the warlock beside him mused after a few minutes of silence, a softness to his voice. He knew it was a question of sorts.

“It’s just . . . nice, seeing everyone get along,” he finally admitted.

“You’re feeling better too,” Taemin pointed out knowingly without an ounce of judgement, fingers reaching out to rearrange some of the faded blond strands falling around Baekhyun’s face. 

“How did you . . .” the other offered a crooked smile. 

“Baekhyun, you quite literally _bound your soul to me_. Besides, we all noticed, we just . . . didn’t say anything when it was obvious you wanted to do this alone,” he explained. “I’m proud of you, Baekhyun.” 

Baekhyun wasn’t getting choked up, it was just . . . getting a little harder to breathe, was all, his teasing words a little thick. “It’s not a big deal, but thanks, I guess.” This time, he didn’t worry about anyone seeing him lean up to claim Taemin’s lips.

It was worth the cup Kyungsoo pegged his way, one that was thankfully caught by Taemin’s freakish reflexes.

  
-

Ten groaned as he rolled his neck forward, a sharp pain having had settled in the side and a steady throbbing in his temple; it was a few seconds before he registered that there was a warm cloth dabbing at his forehead and causing a faint sting, making him wince.Cool, dark eyes fluttered open as he tried to wrench himself away, yet it quickly became evident that his wrists were bound in front of him (behind would’ve been smarter, surely) with strange, thin cuffs of woven material that he felt like even he could probably break free from.

Crouched in front of him was a man, if he could even be called that with how young he looked, with caramel-brown hair that fell over his forehead and soft features that made him look incredibly, well, innocent. 

“Sorry, you bumped your head on the way down—“

“I can heal it myself,” Ten hissed as he tried to lean even further back against the wall, eyes narrowed and sharp as he stared the boy down. A breath left his lips as he tried to channel his energy, yet he came up with . . . nothing. His eyebrows furrowed and his pulse spiked as he tried again but with no change. “ _What did you do to me_?”

“It’s okay,” the boy tried to reassure as he set the cloth down, “we’ve just blocked your magic until Kun is sure you’re not a threat.” He looked so _earnest_ , but Ten recognised this voice as the same one which had held a knife to his throat and knocked him unconscious, so it was understandable that he wasn’t keen on letting himself be lulled into a false sense of security.

The warlock was going to keep his mouth shut — until he mulled over those words again. “Wait, Kun?” The boy grinned so wide that Ten thought it had to hurt. 

“Do you know who we are?” 

Ten snorted. “Of course I do — _Lieshou._ I knew you were on his tail.”

“No— I mean, well, yes, we are, but he . . . he talked about us, right?”

He. Us _._ _Kun_. 

Ten tried to hide the way his eyes widened ever so slightly at the realisation but he doubted it was effective given the way that the boy seemed to, _somehow_ , grin even wider; he looked like he was ready to burst out of his skin. “He did, didn’t he?” He exclaimed. “I knew he wouldn’t have forgotten us. Ah, it’s such a relief — if Yukhei trusted you enough to tell you about us then you must be really special, right? Are you two—“

“YangYang,” a firm voice cut in. Ten noted that despite the authority in that tone there was a level of fondness, too, like an exasperated parent. A face he didn’t recall from the forest stepped through the door into the small room of what he was starting to deduce was probably an inn, decorated with sharp, prominent brows and a fuller bottom lip, golden hair which was brushed back off his forehead on one side. With the way the boy — _YangYang_ , the little boy that Lucas had grown up with — instantly bowed his head down a little and pulled back, Ten was willing to bet this man was in charge to a degree, which meant . . .

“You’re Kun, then?” He hummed smoothly, trying to front as confident as he could even though he was the one restrained, magic-less and completely at their mercy. He needed to play his cards, right.

The man regarded him for a second before nodding and turning to face Yangyang, one hand settling on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “Go eat with the others, okay?”

“But Kun—“

“You’ll have plenty of time to quiz him later.” Kun sounded very sure of that and it made Ten anxious. Even so, the warlock stayed quiet and watched as the younger male left and closed the door behind him, effectively leaving him alone here with a man he had far too many questions for.

“Why am I being held against my will?” Ten quipped with more snark than he’d intended.

“We had to be sure you weren’t dangerous.”

“To who, exactly?”

“Us. Our people.” Kun paused, pursing his lips. “Yukhei.”

“ _You’re the ones hunting him_!” This seemed to frustrate the other male who turned his gaze out the window, tension lacing every inch of his body. Kun looked like the sort of man who he could trust and it was hard not to want to after everything Lucas had told him, because this was _Kun_ , the man who’d taken him under his wing and protected him, who’d given him a family, who’d looked after him. The man who’d helped him gain his freedom in the end. Six years was a very, very long time, though — people changed.

“If we were hunting Yukhei he’d already be dead,” Kun spoke very quietly after a few moments of silence with pain seeping into his words. “He hasn’t been discreet at all — he’s done everything he can to goad us out; it’s obvious what he’s after, isn’t it?” Ten hated that he felt bad for them. “You followed him here, but we know nothing about you other than the fact you’ve been in the wake of all his destruction.” It wasn’t an order, not even a request, but Ten knew that they wanted answers. 

_/“There was no one I trusted more than my Kun-gege,” Lucas laughed softly, words brushing over his skin as he nuzzled into the crook of his neck and smiled. His voice was quiet, laced with that longing he’d never been good at hiding when it came to his old life. “He always looked after us no matter what.”/_

Ten swallowed thickly before sighing. “Lucas,” he finally murmured. “Yukhei was always so scared of his past catching up with him, so by the time I met him he was already going by Lucas. We met a few years ago in a place very, very far away from here — we were both foreigners but I knew some of your language and he . . . “ It’d been so long since Ten been himself around anyone and it was still enough to make him nervous; six months of masquerading was hard to shrug off.

“You can call me Ten,” he offered as he forced himself to relax. “I’m here to save him, whatever it takes.”

“You can’t save someone from themselves, Ten,” Kun warned gently, his own shoulders much more relaxed as they watched each other. “Yukhei has always been in charge of his own destiny. I don’t know what happened to make him go down this path, but if he’s this far gone the only thing that can save him is himself. He has to want to.” 

“He begged me to seal it away.” It was a quiet admission, barely even audible. “He couldn’t live with it anymore and he _begged_ me until I did, and I didn’t want to but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Kun blinked at him with obvious surprise.

“You could do that?”

“I did,” Ten confirmed. “For years it’s been locked away with no issues, and he’s been happy.”

“Then why—“

“He was trying to save us.” Thankfully, Kun didn’t ask just yet who _us_ meant. “Whether it was because it’d been repressed for so long or because he gave into it willingly . . . six months,” he muttered. “Six months I’ve been trying to get through to him and bring him home.” Ten swallowed, throat tight, and met Kun’s gaze again, his expression so clearly agonised yet burning with a fierce loyalty. “I won’t let anyone hurt him, even you.”

“I’m glad we agree on that, Ten.” Rather than leaving the room Kun stepped forward and crouched down in front of him, his hands reaching out to swiftly undo the tie around his wrists; instantly his magic rushed back into him and left him breathless. He’d never seen anything like that. “Come and eat. I’m sure we have plenty to talk about, and the other’s will want to ask you questions.” Kun smiled as they stood, and it held the same warmth he’d given YangYang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _“And no,” Yuta added, a little sharper, “it doesn’t work on human beings.”_
> 
> _“Have you tried?” Taeyong wished he was surprised that Taemin had asked, but he still sent him a look. That was not an appropriate question and not one that was going to . . . well._
> 
> _The change was instantaneous. Yuta’s gaze darkened and the leaves at his feet swirled gently as though stirred by a breeze; in the distance, there was a loud caw that broke through the silence of the woods. Taeyong winced. “Are you going to give me a lesson on morality?”_


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pals,
> 
> I posted about this on my twitter, but for the next few weeks updates will be a little less frequent, probably only once a week or so, just due to some personal stuff and the stress of university. I hope you can all understand.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> possible content warnings:  
> (I think this chapter is pretty safe so? Nothing? Unless very, very faint mentions of corpses etc bothers you)

Sometimes it caught up to him — how much his life had changed within the span of just one year. If you’d walked into Taeyong’s store what felt like an eternity ago and whispered what his future would hold, he would’ve laughed at you. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t have _laughed_ , but that was beside the point. His life had been an absolute whirlwind ever since these men had stumbled into his life, but even so, he didn’t regret it, not for a moment. Even if things still had a long way to go.

Even so, stepping foot off Kyungsoo’s ship and onto foreign soil was such an odd experience. Part of him absolutely crowed at being back on solid ground and able to feel the thrum of the earth around him, but another part of him was hyperaware of the fact that this place was, in fact, not home. 

For one, the words that filled the bustling port were so fast and sharp that he had trouble picking up any definition between them, the flow so unused to what he was accustomed to, and even with the mild knowledge of Lucas’s mother tongue that he’d picked up . . . it was hard. Taeyong was only capable of interpreting little bits here and there but certainly not enough to make much sense of anything of substance.

Despite the fact Kyungsoo had definitely not been happy about the, uh, incident on board, he had stepped onto the dock to see them off — though, Taeyong _had_ noticed the way he hadn’t stepped foot past the line of the land, even the beach, his eyes gazing around at the small port with such longing that it‘d caught him off guard. Taeyong had never seen him so openly express anything. He’d stayed back on the dock as Chanyeol and Sehun followed them off into the marketplace to grab him supplies.

“Are you getting off here, too?” He heard Mark ask from somewhere behind him as Taeyong’s gaze fluttered over the abundance of stalls and the wares they were offering. They definitely needed to pick up some things, too. 

“That was the plan originally,” Chanyeol spoke up, “but I think . . . I think we’re going to sail for a while longer. We’re not in desperate need of money anyway.” The white-haired male couldn’t help but smile to himself as he listened; of course they were staying on board. Anyone would be blind not to see the way that Chanyeol looked at the captain or the way Kyungsoo seemed to have a soft spot for him. 

“Hey— Byun Baekhyun!” He turned on his heel at that to watch the way Baekhyun froze as he walked alongside Jongin, whole body tense. It was Sehun who’d spoken and his expression gave absolutely nothing away. “See you around.” Baekhyun seemed to just stare at him in shock and, frankly, Taeyong couldn’t blame him — it didn’t stop him from grinning, though.

“He’s right. Don’t be a stranger,” Chanyeol chimed with that wide smile of his. “Maybe we’ll come and see this fancy castle of yours sometime.” Taeyong turned to give them some privacy when he noticed how lost for words Baekhyun was and instead focused on looking over the fresh fruits laid out before them, mentally adding up what they needed as he waited.

“I have a feeling that’s your doing.” His eyes glanced to his left where Yuta was standing, lips curled into an amused little grin; half his hair was tied back with messy strands falling free, artfully placed so that the tips of his ears were hidden from view, and on his shoulder was a crow, eyes pale and beak clicking as it fluffed up its feathers and huddled closer into his hair. Taeyong knew everyone would be able to piece it together, that it was the same crow Sehun had killed, but that . . . they could deal with that later. 

Taeyong offered a woefully innocent expression that was ruined by the twitch of his mouth. “Not really. They saw how much he’s changed all by themselves, I just answered any questions they had,” he admitted. He’d made up plenty of medicine for their journeys and the money in his pocket was, admittedly, less than he’d been planning to charge, but Taeyong supposed he had grown fond of the two mercenaries during their journey, too. They weren’t so bad. Having them as friends . . . it wasn’t a terrible thought.

He reached out to scratch the back of the crow’s head gently and smiled when its eyelid fluttered close and it preened under the attention. 

“You two ready to head out?” Taeyong glanced over his shoulder to where Jongin was standing, looking more relaxed and content than he’d seen him be since he’d come home; he was glowing. “Taemin said he has a lead and we can . . . you know.” Ah, yes, of course — they desperately needed to catch up, and though they weren’t skilled in the shadow-travelling that Ten was so notorious for, they were going to attempt something like that. They’d just needed to figure out where they needed to be. 

“Almost,” he promised, offering a smile before he nudged Yuta who went off to help and turned his gaze back to the stall. 

“Can I have a . . . bag of these, please?” Taeyong tried to articulate as clearly as possible but he knew his speech was a dead giveaway that he was a foreigner. His eyes flickered up to the stall-holder and instantly froze when clouded eyes met his gaze, weathered skin surrounding them — despite her blindness, it felt like she was staring into his very soul.

“Be careful,” she croaked as she nudged a bag forward. “This land is no place for the cunning folk.” All he could do was swallow thickly as his heart caught in his chest and nod, carefully taking the bag of plums she’d offered up to him and placing some coins down on the table. _Cunning folk_. It was what fae had been called, once upon a time, when they’d freely roamed this plane and interacted with humans — no one used that these days, hell, barely anyone even knew what the term meant.

Somehow she knew, even without seeing him. 

“Thank you,” Taeyong rasped out and bowed his head a little before quickly putting distance between himself and the stall as he walked back over to where everyone was waiting.

“Are you okay, Yong?” Baekhyun hummed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, I was just . . .” he’d turned to motion to the stall that he’d been caught up at, only for his hand to fall back to his side when he saw it was empty; no fruit was laid out over the table and there were cobwebs clinging to the corners. More importantly, the woman he’d spoken to was nowhere to be seen. “Nothing. Just not used to being back on land, I guess.”

Taemin watched him with furrowed brows but thankfully didn’t say anything.

“Let’s get going, then.”

There was no point them trying to acquire horses when they wouldn’t need them for long, so they ended up leaving the port on foot and honestly, Taeyong was thankful the moment it was out of sight. Not only had it been hard not to feel uncomfortable under all the curious and apprehensive gazes of the locals, but he just couldn’t get the woman out of his mind; he felt like every time he closed his eyes he could see the way she’d stared through him, expression so knowing, her words such a clear warning.

It was nice, though, to be able to stretch his legs like this after so long cooped up on the ship, and he felt like that was probably a shared sentiment. Things felt . . . good. There was no heavy tension permeating the air around them, no one trying to distance themselves, no worry of arguments blossoming over the smallest of things. Mark was walking up front with Baekhyun and Taemin and Jongin seemed to be deep in conversation with Yuta about something or other. It made Taeyong so happy to see that despite their wariness at first they’d all warmed up to Yuta and accepted him. Then again, it was sort of impossible not to like Yuta.

Despite the fact Taeyong was a step or so behind them he didn’t feel very lonely even though he usually favoured sticking much closer to someone, and not just because Yuta’s crow was resting on his shoulder as he walked along. “We should give you a name,” he murmured more to himself than anything. Yuta’s creations were . . . it was complicated to explain in words, enough that he hadn’t truly understood until Yuta had shown him the process. His magic was truly something else.

“What about Cloud?” Taeyong posed. 

“Like hell,” Yuta instantly called over his shoulder. He could’ve heard, if he’d been trying to listen, but he’d been deep in conversation and Taeyong knew that wasn’t how he’d heard his words. He just smiled. “You’re not naming my bird _Cloud_.”

“Do you have a better name, or is it just going to be Bird?”

“Lucky,” was what came after a few moments of deliberation. Taeyong instantly let a laugh bubble from his throat and the noise seemed to set off the crow, _Lucky_ , who started cawing and flapping her wings on his shoulder. Crows were notoriously bad luck, after all, but maybe for them it would be different.

“Lucky it is then.”

It took a few hours until they felt like they’d come across a good spot for what they had planned and even then they waited as Yuta sent Lucky up to scout the area and make sure there was no-one that would potentially be in the way.

“How does it work?” Baekhyun questioned as he walked over to stand by his side, arms crossed over his chest and eyes holding that little spark that told Taeyong just how curious he really was. “I mean, the bird was dead, right? I wasn’t aware that necromancy was a good thing.”

“It isn’t necromancy,” Yuta interjected from across the clearing where he was standing and staring at the sky. Taeyong sighed and scrunched his face up just a little — they’d both known this conversation was bound to be broached at some point, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant by any means.

“Bringing something that was dead back to life is necromancy, isn’t it?” He was really, really grateful that Yuta was so patient. It wasn’t easy, for those without magic to be able to understand magic in any regard, let alone advanced forms such as the one that Yuta specialised in. Even Taeyong hadn’t understood at first.

“If there’s a name for what I do then I haven’t heard it yet.” Yuta finally glanced back towards them and Taeyong wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Jongin and Mark were not so subtly listening too. Even Taemin was watching with cautious curiosity. “A lot — but not all — of my kind draw their power from nature, me included. Necromancy is animating human corpses with dark energy and bending them to your will, leaving no room for their own, but they can’t have one because they’re dead. There’s a fine line,” he explained, “between what I do and that. My magic uses what’s available to rebuild what’s been broken — my babies have a mind of their own, and their own will. They can defy me, but they don’t.”

“That’s . . .” Baekhyun breathed.

“And no,” Yuta added, a little sharper, “it doesn’t work on human beings.”

“Have you tried?” Taeyong wished he was surprised that Taemin had asked, but he still sent him a _look_. That was not an appropriate question and not one that was going to . . . well.

The change was instantaneous. Yuta’s gaze darkened and the leaves at his feet swirled gently as though stirred by a breeze; in the distance, there was a loud caw that broke through the silence of the woods. Taeyong winced. “Are you going to give me a lesson on morality?”

“Yuta, it’s—“ Taeyong started softly, only to cut himself off when the other glanced his way with a firm expression.

“Once,” Yuta spoke loudly, eyes dragging over each and every one of them. “And it _doesn’t work_.” The dark-haired fae didn’t glance back at them as he turned, stalking off into the forest and disappearing into the undergrowth. He— _for_ _gods sake_. There wasn’t much power behind it but Taeyong still found himself sending a small wave of magic at Taemin, just enough to make him stumble on his feet and almost fall over before he caught himself. The elder at least had the sense to look a little apologetic. 

To be fair, they hadn’t _known_ it was a soft spot.

“Really?”

“We all wanted to know,” Baekhyun spoke up quietly in defence but quieted quickly when Taeyong shot him a sharp look. 

“It wasn’t his choice,” Taeyong gritted out, his chest aching. Gods, he wanted nothing more than to chase after Yuta and apologise but he knew that the other would want time by himself for a little bit. “He was . . . Yuta dedicated his life to the royal guard ever since he was a child, okay? He had no parents, no family, and he was raised in the castle be a perfect soldier like so many of the others, but things got so corrupted over the years and he struggled with it, but he never left — you want to know why?” Silence. “Because he was unwaveringly _loyal_ to his people and those who’d raised him, to serving the royal family. People _knew_ that and used it for their own gain.”

“So he didn’t retire, I’m guessing?” Jongin murmured, lips pressed into a thin line and arms crossed. Taeyong couldn’t quite read his expression.

“No. Yuta always had an inclination for this sort of magic, just like everyone gravitates towards something, but he never flaunted it — there were always people that disapproved even if he never did any harm.” Taeyong hesitated for just a moment before continuing, “Seungyoun wanted to test the limits of his power, so when one of my— one of the heirs was killed off again, he manipulated Yuta into _trying_ , to see if it was possible. He wanted an heir he could control completely, of course.”

That name was certainly a mood killer. Even hearing it was enough to have shivers racing down his spine and the hairs on his arms standing on end, like someone was standing right over his shoulder. 

“Kangdae was a good man, unlike some of the others, and he was Yuta’s _friend_. Seungyoun knew he wouldn't be able to say no.”

A hand was set on his arm and Taeyong almost jumped before he realised it was Mark, throat bobbing. “What happened?”

“It was unnatural,” Taeyong almost whispered. He could still remember the haunted face that’d been on Yuta’s face when he’d described it. “Human souls are far more intricate than animals.” They all knew that far too well. “It wasn’t human, not really. When it didn’t go the way Seungyoun wanted he got angry and Yuta realised he’d been used, so he threatened to expose him; Seungyoun turned everything around and spun a story about how Yuta had tried to reanimate Kangdae so that he’d have control over the throne and have status. He was all but exiled.”

Taeyong sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the way that it got stuck in his chest as he squeezed Mark’s hand and gently pulled back. “So if you’re going to judge him for that, I hope you think I’m a monster. Yuta never kills to create, but I killed a dozen men to bring Jongin back.” He’d never said that so plainly before. “And I’d do it again.” 

No one said anything until Yuta walked back into the clearing over ten minutes later with Lucky on his shoulder and his signature smile like nothing had ever happened. The dark-haired fae clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, air rippling around him. “Let’s get this portal going, then.”

-

It’d been a very long time since Taemin had been through a portal, and even longer since he’d actually had to help conjure one — they’d never been his speciality, and he’d never bothered with focusing on them when his wings were a fairly decent substitute. To be honest, they made him a little nauseous, not that he was going to admit that to any of them. 

“Is this the right place?” Mark groaned from where he was kneeling and clutching his stomach, looking as though he was going to throw up any second. Yuta seemed unaffected, though that wasn’t much of a surprise, Jongin was steady on his feet and Baekhyun was clutching at his arm like he was going to pitch over any second. Taeyong was just looking around the alleyway they’d been spat out in with obvious confusion. 

Portals were notoriously difficult and dangerous, far more than the magic that Ten used to port himself around; shadow-travel was really only effective for shorter distances, after all. Less room for error. Fixed portals at least meant that you knew where you were going to end up no matter what but they were even harder to conjure, and there was the fact you had to have been to the place you wanted to go. They’d _all_ had to focus on Ten or Lucas to come through, and they’d had to choose _one_ , which was hard enough, but all meant Yuta, too, and he’d never met either of them. It was why they hadn’t dared risk doing this across an ocean.

For all they knew, they were in the completely wrong place. If they were home he might actually scream.

But no, the language he could hear spilling from the streets was definitely the correct one. He just hadn’t thought they’d land in a _town_ , certainly not a big one like this. He could feel the thrum in the air of magic and if _he_ could feel it . . . there was a chance someone else had felt them come in. 

“We need to get out into the crowd,” Taemin urged, helping Mark up off the ground and rubbing his back as he pushed some energy forth to ease the sickness before pulling him along and trying to get everyone looking decent. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here but I doubt they like strangers very much.” Last time had been . . . what, a century ago? A lot could change in that time, but the people of this country were set in their ways, no matter how dangerous. “So keep quiet and let me do the talking. Keep an eye out for either of them.”

“Taemin . . .” he glanced towards Taeyong, who was now staring at him with wide eyes filled with hope.

Taemin could feel it. The pull in his chest, the tickle of familiar energy in the air that wrapped around him and traced over his skin absentmindedly. It was like the smell of perfume hanging in the air, a sign that Ten had come through his very alley not too long prior. They were on the right track. The warlock swallowed thickly before nodding. 

It wasn’t easy once they got out into the bustling streets. There were so many people, so much foreign magic in that air that none of them were used to — even Yuta looked like he was a little overwhelmed by it — and it blocked out any trail that’d been left behind. All that Taemin could do was make sure everyone stayed close to him and tried to rely on that tether in his chest to lead him the right way.

_Come on, Ten,_ he thought to himself as he worked his way through another thicket in the crowd, ignoring people who stared with varying expressions. They hadn’t necessarily received a warm reception when they’d landed, but wherever they were . . . there was no kindness for them, here. _Reach out. Give me something to work with_. Their bond would never break, but after being apart for so long things weren’t as strong as they should’ve been.

Two hours. 

The excitement and anticipation of being reunited started to slowly fade no matter how much all of them tried not to let it show, replaced by a sinking, defeated feeling and the thought that maybe they were wrong. That they wouldn’t be able to find him — that they’d have to try again, which meant waiting at least another day until their magic had regenerated enough to attempt such a thing. None of them had been at full capacity to start with after that voyage.

“Maybe we should find somewhere to stay the night,” Yuta dared speak up finally, his voice careful and measured. “We can keep searching in the morning. It’s bound to be dark soon.”

“He’s here somewhere,” Taeyong insisted from his side. Taemin could see the faint dark circles starting to show under his eyes, though. He hadn’t had a chance to recover fully from their efforts during the storm since as soon as they’d landed they’d been off again. He . . . gods, as much as he hated it, they _needed_ to rest. 

“Once we have rooms we can come back out, if we’re up to it,” Taemin offered as a median to try and please everyone, and whilst it seemed for a moment that there was going to be arguments he slowly got a chorus of reluctant nods.

It felt oddly like defeat to turn around and start searching for an inn to stay in instead, but Taemin tried not to think of it that way. With any luck, there was a chance that if Ten tried, he’d be able to feel that they’d been here, that maybe he’d follow that trail back to them. It was likely wishful thinking but he wanted to be positive about this. He wasn’t going to give up.

Taemin resented the concept of fate, but when he turned his head at the jingle of a door and looked through the large, open windows of a building to his left and caught sight of a familiar profile it . . . it sort of felt like it. He froze in his tracks as the air was sucked from his lungs, the ache in his chest almost excruciating as it tried to coax him forward. Taemin wasn’t sure what he’d expected when they found Ten, but this? This wasn’t it.

Ten sat at a table with four other men, laughing and smiling with a spark in his eyes as he slung one of his arms around one of the younger one’s shoulders. He looked healthy. He looked _happy_.

For a very brief moment, Taemin wondered if this had been a bad idea — if he should’ve left well enough alone and stayed away.

And then Ten happened to glance over his way as he raised him mug to his lips, that smile instantly freezing, dark eyes widening as they focused on him. Frankly, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Taemin could hear the other’s calling his name but all he could focus on was the way Ten scrambled up from where he was sitting and weaved his way through the tables like a mad man, eyes never leaving his own until the younger stumbled through the doors to the tavern and crashed into him at full speed.

It filled a void in him that had been open for so long when he was able to wrap Ten up in his arms again and burying his face into his hair; they were cut from the same cloth, after all, and the moment they were reunited their magic was quick to surge forward, wrapping around each other in a far more intimate embrace that was more comforting than he could put into words. “There you are,” Taemin breathed out, not bothering to hide the tremble in his voice as Ten clutched at him.

“Ten!” The younger warlock pulled back just a fraction and instantly looked stunned when he seemed to notice the others darting over to where they were standing. Jongin was first and Taemin forced himself to let go so that he could sweep Ten up in his arms and let out an incredulous, wet sounding laugh. It became a bit of a pile-on after that, with the way Mark just wedged himself into the embrace and Baekhyun tried to wrap his arms around all of them, his eyes looking a little wet — not that he could blame them.

“Ten?” Another voice called, much softer and much more reserved, almost getting lost under the lull of the crowd, but despite the volume Ten seemed to hear that single word through everything if the way he went as still as a statue was anything to go by. Reuniting with Ten was one thing. Seeing everyone else reunite with him was another. Seeing the way he looked so hopeful yet so _scared_ when he laid eyes on Taeyong again for the first time was . . . words just couldn’t describe it. The dark-haired male staggered forward like a man possessed and stopped just in front of Taeyong, hands coming up but hovering over him like he was scared that if he reached out the illusion would fade away. Taemin understood the feeling.

“It’s really you?” His voice trembled. Taeyong’s eyes curved a little and he nodded, moisture glistening on his lower lash line as he reached out to pull Ten in close and press their forehead’s together, a happy sob spilling forth from his lips.

“It’s me, Ten. It’s me.”

Ten all but collapsed into his arms with silent tears.

-

Mark had never been quick to warm up to people. Call it a habit he’d retained from when he and Jongin had been vulnerable and hadn’t been able to trust anyone save for each other, but it was something that’d never really changed — it was something that the people closest to him knew well, only because it’d taken time for him to trust them, too.

These people had him uneasy.

He wasn’t being rude by any means (he’d introduced himself when everyone else had and had listened intently so he knew the face that went with each name) but he’d preferred to stay quiet when they’d all retired back to the table and started talking. Mark had heard of them before, of course. Lucas had never been quick to open up about his life before but a few cups of alcohol one night seemed to have loosened his lips because he’d been slung around Mark’s shoulders and lamenting how much he missed them.

Kun, Dejun, YangYang and Kunhang — his first family.

Mark wasn’t quite sure _what_ he felt about them yet, but he wasn’t going to be so quick to trust them, not when he could see the plethora of weapons they had on them and the way that, even when seemingly relaxed and talking, they held themselves in a way that was so typical of a warrior. Ten seemed to trust them, though; he’d introduced them as his _friends._ Unfortunately, he _did_ trust his judgement. It was a tricky scenario.

“I’m glad to see that Yukhei has so many people who care for him,” the eldest, Kun, spoke up with a smile that showed off faint dimples. His pronunciation wasn’t perfect, but it was still easy to understand. He couldn’t help but wonder where he’d learnt. Mark had to press his lips together a little at the way Baekhyun coughed into his fist at the comment. “It hasn’t been easy trying to keep him in check, but if we can rely on you to help . . .”

“Of course,” Jongin spoke for them. Mark had always wondered how the older male couldn’t see just how much of a natural leader he was, even though it was so evident to anyone who laid eyes on him, from the way he held himself to the way he spoke; perhaps he hadn’t spent his whole life in the castle, training to be a king, but he didn’t need it. Even dressed in common clothes he exuded such an aura of refined power. He was the sort of man who lead without realising that everyone was following in his step. “I wish we could’ve been here sooner, but we had no idea where to go until recently, and Ten, well.”

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” Ten murmured as he reached out to squeeze Jongin’s hand, his own free of the rings he usually adorned. In fact, the more Mark looked the more he noticed, like the fact he was certainly thinner and the distinct lack of anything much despite the fact Ten had always loved to drape himself in lavish clothes and jewellery; the only thing he could see was the hint of a band around his throat and the glitter of a familiar sapphire. Out of everything, all he had left was Jongin’s gift to him from that day all those months ago.

Mark still remembered how exhilarating it’d been to stand by his king’s side that day, to bear his crest; _together_.

He wanted that again.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Jongin insisted. “We all did and said things we aren’t proud of . . . all that matters is now, right?” Mark couldn’t help but notice just how proud Taeyong looked of him when he said that, his eyes sparkling and a smile curling across pink lips from where he sat between Ten and the one Mark now recognised as Dejun. Dejun kept staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place and it made him uneasy. 

“You’re right,” Ten seemed to relent after a moment. “I missed you all so . . .”

Mark found himself tuning out the elder’s words when he saw Dejun pause and reach up to rub over the back of his neck just as the other’s shifted and then move to lean closer to Kun, cupping a hand over his ear as he whispered words which he couldn’t pick up, or understand for that matter, but it seemed to make Kun tense a little. His smile returned but Mark’s gaze sharpened when it didn’t look as sincere. Everyone else slowly seemed to pick up on the change and Ten seemed to ask a question that got a carefully measured response that seemed to be purposefully spoken in their mother tongue so that they couldn’t understand. 

Ten looked nervous, and that was never a good sign.

“What did he say?” Taeyong asked softly, looking at Ten with obvious concern.

“He said The Matriarch has summoned them.” Taemin was the one who translated this time with an even expression, ignoring the shock that flittered across their hosts’ faces when they realised there was someone else who could understand what they’d been saying. His words sounded . . . ominous. “They’ve been instructed to bring us in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _Sitting on the throne with one leg folded over the other and arms resting on the rests was . . . well, a man. He seemed tall and willowy even as he sat, graceful, with sharp, almond eyes and a slender, rounded nose leading down to plush lips and a pointed chin, all framed by short, spiked black hair. He looked otherworldly. His clothes were simple yet there was no denying he was their leader; the shoulders of his robes were a little pointed and made him seem wider, more masculine, with flared sleeves that were lined red; the outfit seemed to be clinched at the waist but flared out below that, the middle parted to show black pants which clung to long legs. He didn’t seem to be armed._


	10. chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually one of my favourite chapters to write, just because of, uh, a certain someone : ) sorry it's taken me a while to update, life has been crazy and my mental health hasn't been great, plus I've just really found it hard to motivate myself to write at times. 
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- I don't think anything is really prevalent in this chapter, honestly, but there's certainly nothing more than has been in pervious chapters 
> 
> [ _baobei_ \- a term of endearment ]

Ten had never imagined that he’d end up here, at Weishen House; despite the fact he’d known that deep down Lucas would one day miss his home enough to perhaps venture back, there was no doubt that he’d never want to come _here_ , to this place.

Staring up at the foreboding, dark exterior of the building, he could understand why. Weishen House stood out from its surroundings like a sore thumb, rising at least five stories tall with mismatched dark stone and wood, an angular roof that had a few protruding chimneys which were spewing smoke. There were numerous windows but they were all dark, some even boarded up. Honestly, it looked rather run-down and the air seemed thicker, here, dripping with malevolent energy. They’d passed a few smaller structures along the road and houses, a stable, even, but this house was certainly the crowning jewel. 

It was no castle, but it was clear that those who resided here held a position of power. Zhong Hua was not united in any sense, not even when compared to how things were run back home. There were no kingdoms that ruled over large regions, but rather hundreds of smaller factions such as this where one family or group of people governed over their territory. Fights for power and territory were incredibly common as each faction struggled to be on top. The Weishen faction had always been _big_ , but Ten was sure it was now bigger than when Lucas had been a boy.

Ten shot a look at the unfamiliar face — Yuta, Taeyong had explained, who was apparently a friend — and noted the way his expression was a carefully guarded, blank mask. Even when it seemed that the other male was toning down his magic Ten could _feel_ it, something incredibly potent and different to anything he’d ever really felt. 

“Promise me they won’t be harmed,” he insisted as Kun opened the front door to reveal nothing but a dark hallway he could barely see into. Here, the shadows seemed to have a mind of their own. This . . . the people here wielded magic different to his own, but he’d never seen it like _this_.

“I can’t,” Kun reluctantly admitted. At least he was being honest, and he didn’t seem to like the situation either if the furrow between his brows was anything to go by. “I . . . I’ll vouch for you and do what I can regardless; your help will likely be appreciated.”

Likely. Ten didn’t like banking their lives on a _likely_ , but he knew that they needed these people as much as they perhaps needed them. So a likely would have to do.

The shadows wrapped around their skin as they stepped through the doorway and Ten knew instantly that whoever The Matriarch was, they were incredibly strong; this sort of power wasn’t natural and it made him nervous, even considering his company, not because of the strength inherently but the fact that someone who was willing to make the sacrifices necessary to gain such dark power was dangerous. The shadows flickered and twisted, dancing along them, testing, before they faded and their surroundings were revealed to them.

The inside of this house was far less dilapidated than he’d been expecting — in fact, despite the thickness in the air, it was actually rather pleasant. Not eccentric, but the contrast of the dark walls and red, wooden floors held a whisper of luxury, light streaming in from the windows that had seemed blocked out from the outside, and it made him realise that the exterior was exactly that: a front. 

“Come,” Dejun spoke, already a few steps down the hall. YangYang and Kunhang gave him a forced little smile that looked like they were wishing him well before disappearing down another. Lucas had often told him that this place was like a maze with its many halls and staircases, but he hadn’t really understood that until now. This place felt so . . . alive.

Ten took up the front and followed after the other male, the other’s piled up close behind him and no doubt feeling just as nervous as he did, but Ten was masking his own fairly well, if he did say so himself. He didn’t know what to expect of The Matriarch. Some whispered she was a cruel mistress but he’d seen just how loyal her Lieshou were. Perhaps he thought he’d be lead to some tall, stunning woman, a seductress, someone who’d somehow managed to gain control of such a powerful faction despite the fact she was supposed to be rather young.

Instead, he was faced with this:

They stepped through a set of wide, wooden doors with golden handles and were led to stand in the centre of a room larger than he would’ve expected, with large windows on either side of a large chair that was just shy of a throne, crafted from shining, dark metal and intricately patterned with roses. Light streamed into the room and illuminated the dark marble underfoot, accentuating the paler walls which were a faded grey stone and seemed to go up forever before arching into a tall ceiling. All around lay plants, many he’d never seen before in his life.

On either side of the throne was a large, red-velvet cushion, and atop those sat two very big, very real tigers, watching them with golden eyes and perked ears.

Sitting on the throne with one leg folded over the other and arms resting on the rests was . . . well, a man. He seemed tall and willowy even as he sat, _graceful_ , with sharp, almond eyes and a slender, rounded nose leading down to plush lips and a pointed chin, all framed by short, spiked black hair. He looked utterly otherworldly. His clothes were simple yet there was no denying he was their leader; the shoulders of his robes were a little pointed and made him seem wider, more masculine, with flared sleeves that were lined red; the outfit seemed to be clinched at the waist but flared out below that, the middle parted to show black pants which clung to long legs. He didn’t seem to be armed.

Kun and Dejun both stepped forward before dropping into a bow with their right fists over their heart and their heads bowed. At this angle, Ten noticed for the first time the crescent moon carved into their napes, just a thin, red outline which was an almost exact mimicry of the scar that Lucas had been born with. He felt like the air was sucked from his lungs as his eyes snapped back to the man on the throne. 

“Sicheng,” Kun announced as he finally raised his head. The tigers seemed to show those two no interest but were instead staring directly at himself and his companions, their ears flicking back and lips just barely peeling over large, shining teeth as growls echoed in the chamber. The man — _Sicheng_ — held his palm up and they silenced instantly, settling back down to lick their paws as he rose from his seat and walked down the few steps to stand in front of his Lieshou, urging them to rise. 

Ten was so fucking _confused_.

Titles were titles, that wasn’t the problem — he had no problem with a man being referred to as The Matriarch, but the thing was, in Zhong Hua . . . it was impossible. This was, inherently, a matriarchal society, and for a good reason: the only people who had any sort of magic in their veins were women. It was hereditary magic from the old days.

Sicheng seemed to notice his staring and cocked his head just a little. Perhaps Ten should’ve looked away, but instead he stood his ground, his expression unthreatening but not weak by any means. “Leave us,” he spoke softly to his men with a voice that was like a winter breeze, naturally cool and removed. To his merit, Kun did look like he wanted to argue, but in the end just spared him an apologetic look before he and Dejun stepped back to leave out the door they’d come through. It left him hyperaware that they were in a room alone with not only an incredibly powerful sorcerer, but two tigers who seemed to be at his beck and call.

“Three humans,” Sicheng started slowly as he looked between them, “two powerful warlocks, and two fae.” Ten ignored the way his heart seized a little. Hell, how could this man even tell — not about them, that was easy, but Yuta and Taeyong . . . well, shit. If he had to guess then he’d say he’d probably had some way of deducing what they were from the shadows they’d had to step through in order to enter this place at all, though Ten had never seen magic that’d allow such a thing, at least not in his own travels. “Forgive me if I’m hesitant to believe you’ve come to my territory in peace.”

To be fair, Ten _did_ understand where Sicheng was coming from. Bringing this much power into an area that was already plagued by imbalances and struggles for control would be, in most circumstances, a threat. This had been a stupid idea, but it wasn’t like they’d planned this, or really gotten a choice. If he’d known they were all going to come and find him he would’ve made a proper plan.

“Forgive us, My Lord,” Ten began as he took a small step forward, bowing his head for a moment before he dared look up again and meet Sicheng’s cool gaze. “I know what this looks like, but I assure you that it was never our intention to drop in unannounced like this. I was unaware that my companions would be joining me at all until late yesterday.” Gods, this man gave nothing away, not even a twitch of his jaw; it was impossible to get a read on him. ”You have no reason at all to believe me, but nonetheless, I swear that we’re not here on anyone’s behalf, nor to disrupt your rule — we’re here for only one reason. Lucas—“ Ten paused before correcting himself. “ _Yukhei_ is very important to us, and we won’t stand by idly as he suffers. I understand it’s too risky to allow us to operate on our own right now, but perhaps we’d be worthy allies to hold onto, for the time being? All we ask is that we be able to assist in your efforts to bring him in — unharmed.”

There was no making demands with a man like Sicheng; they had to be able to offer something of worth, and in tumultuous times like this, power was the best thing he could extend, something they certainly seemed to have an abundance of right now. Looking at the other man’s face, he still wasn’t sure whether that was enough.

“You have a silver tongue, Ten,” he answered after a long minute of silence, eyes wandering over all of them. Something seemed to catch his attention, though he seemed a little confused, surprised, even, with an underlying tone of distaste, before his eyes were back on Ten. Ten hadn’t dared to look back and see who he’d been looking at. “But you’re correct. Kun already told me that you’re important to Yukhei,” Sicheng spoke evenly as he fiddled with one of the rings on his fingers, the movement far from nervous, “and you’re lucky that such words hold power here. Perhaps you’ll be able to tame him.”

Ten wasn’t sure he liked that term but he didn’t dare let it show.

“You’re free to come and go as you please, but in my halls you’ll obey _me,_ and my men’s orders; you won’t interfere with our dealings, and in turn you’ll be allowed to take care of this problem . . . with help, of course.” Sicheng arched one perfect, slitted eyebrow and moved one of his hands forward — the one with the ring that bore a large, swirling ruby. “Do I have your word?”

Ten took one tentative step forward, then another, ignoring the tigers that stared as he dropped down to one knee and pressed his lips to the stone, not daring to steady the hand attached. Sicheng seemed content with that. “Very well, then,” he decided as Ten pulled back and returned to the others. Finally, he got a glimpse of the expression of awe plastered to Yuta’s face, something almost reverent as he watched Sicheng return to his throne, eyes tracking each and every movement. 

Kun and Dejun filtered back into the room without any verbal command and he didn’t miss the relief on both their faces. “We’ll show you to your rooms.”

-

The first thing that Taeyong heard once heavy doors closed behind them was a breathless, “I think I’m in love.”

A few things happened in very quick succession; first, he heard varying choked noises and the sounds of people whirring in confusion; then Kun, who’d been nothing but smiles since they’d met, turned on his heel and fixed Yuta with a firm look that was almost a glare, certainly not the friendliest of looks, body tense.

“You’re lucky Dejun can’t understand your jokes,” the other man spoke in a tight hum, but Taeyong . . . well, he could see so easily that Yuta wasn’t joking in the slightest even if he had a wide, dazed grin curled across his features. He’d never seen the other look like that — had never seen him stare at someone with such unbridled awe and reverence in the way he’d watched Sicheng, _Sicheng_ , the man who’d made his skin prickle with malevolent energy. He’d been so cold and indifferent, and Yuta . . . well, Taeyong wasn’t sure what was going on. 

“I’m not joking,” Yuta mused wistfully, looking back over his shoulder even though the doors were closed. “Isn’t he just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—“

“Hyung,” Mark interjected, shifting nervously, “he looked like he wanted to gut you for smiling at him.”

“ _Exactly_.”

All Taeyong could do was blink slowly before shifting his gaze to Ten, who was, surprisingly, not appearing to be paying much attention to the bizarre conversation — he looked lost in his own thoughts, eyes focused on nothing in particular even if his gaze was turned towards the wooden floor. His brows furrowed a little and he reached out to run a hand down the back of his arm before watching as he blinked and offered a small smile.

“You’d do well to keep your affections to yourself, Fae, if you want to keep your head — Sicheng won’t take lightly to them, and neither will the others.”

“Kun,” Ten spoke up a little softer but with a faint strain to his voice and a troubled gaze. “How?” The other spoke a few more words, yet this time in Lucas’s language, and Taeyong wasn’t skilled enough to understand all of it — just enough that it was a little confusing as to why Taemin stiffened by his side as they walked, or why Kun and Dejun seemed so guarded. It was _difficult_. The fae could garner that they had mentioned women and magic, but beyond that, it was a bit of a blur other than Sicheng’s name and the title he’d heard. The Matriarch. What an odd name, for him.

“We like you, Ten, and you’re important to Yukhei, but don’t test our loyalty,” Kun spoke definitely before turning away from them again. Ten didn’t meet his questioning gaze and neither did Taemin, but at least Taeyong wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand what they’d been talking about because Jongin, Mark and Baekhyun looked just as confused and concerned. Yuta was just smiling to himself despite the threats and warnings he’d received. Had Sicheng enchanted him, somehow?

Taeyong had thought they’d find answers here, but he was starting to feel like it was the complete opposite.

The rooms they were lead to were, well, they were nice — two beds in each, which meant they’d have to pair up, and a window between the beds that overlooked a large courtyard that must have been located at the rear of the house. They were cosy, in a way, even if they sported similar decor as the rest of Weishen House. It did nothing to wipe away the energy hovering in the air. Black, white and red certainly seemed to be the aesthetic that flowed through the whole house, since these rooms were varying combinations of the same spectrum. Simple, yet elegant.

“I want Taeyong,” Ten had spoken up the moment their chaperones had departed after explaining some basic rules:

1.No one was permitted to enter the halls that were below Weishen House

2.They were allowed to come and go as they pleased, but they would be smart not to raise suspicion, and they had to follow basic orders

3.Meals were shared in the dining hall

4\. They’d be expected to follow the curfew, which meant that they weren’t allowed to roam the halls from midnight till dawn

“But Ten—“

“No,” the warlock cut them off, raising a brow. Jongin looked like he was ready to pout. “You’ve all had him to yourselves.” Ah, it was almost easy to forget that they’d only been reunited with Ten yesterday — that the other had thought him dead for so long — considering just how easily they all slotted back together. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I wanted you,” their king mumbled quietly, but after a few moments he nodded, ducking his head down to press his forehead into Ten’s shoulder as they stood before the four doors. 

“I want the solo room, then,” Yuta voiced before anyone else could dare say so first. “My eyes have already been scarred from having to travel with you,” the dark-haired male exaggerated, “I don’t want to have to endure any more.”

“I can room with Taemin then, I guess,” Jongin huffed, but Yuta instantly narrowed his eyes and pointed to the furthest room. Taeyong couldn’t be blamed for the way he had to fight back an amused grin.

“I’m not rooming next to you two. My ears have heard enough.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Taeyong tried to placate.

“You were _asleep_ ,” the other pointed out. “It was.”

“They were pretty loud,” Baekhyun admitted with a chuckle, already having opened one of the doors to claim it as his own — and Mark’s, given how things had fallen into place. Taeyong hoped they’d be able to spend some time together, that both of them would just . . . well, be able to relax. “Well, _Jongin_ was loud. You should’ve heard him — _oh, Taemin_ ,” the elder moaned in a deeper register that was a clear (but poor) imitation of their king, eyes fluttering shut even as he danced away from the tanned arm which reached out to try and hit him. “Just like that, Taemin, _please_ — ow—“

Taeyong felt like his laughter was justified at the way that Baekhyun had tripped over his own feet and hit the door frame with his shoulder, now nursing it like some grand injury, especially when laughter of varying levels and intensities was filling the hallway, from Taemin’s quiet chuckle to Mark’s cackle, Jongin’s deep, dorky laughs which he adored so much — even Ten was laughing, his eyes curled into soft crescents.

“Watch your tongue, Baekhyun,” Taemin hummed even as he reached out to touch his fingers to Baekhyun’s shoulder and let out a soft wave of magic, just enough to ease the (very minor) pain. He was always looking out for them in his own way, even now. “Your tone was a little off, though, it was more like _oh_ —“

“You can room with each other,” Jongin hissed despite the fact his cheeks were starting to blossom with colour as he shoved the warlock’s chest; he was helpless to escape when Taemin captured one of his hands and drew him closer, just smiling that soft little curl of his lips that Taeyong adored so wholeheartedly. 

Arms curled around his waist and the point of a chin settled on his shoulder, nose grazing the shell of his ear as a warm body plastered to him. “I missed this,” Ten murmured, barely audible. “Them. _You_. Even after you showed me . . . I feel like there’s so much I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you everything.” It was a quiet promise just between them as their fingers laced together. “I’m not going anywhere, Ten.”

Lunch was odd, _tense_ , surrounded by Sicheng’s people who watched from their own tables in the hall with eyes filled with distrust and disapproval of they ate, dampened only by the fact that Kun and the others had invited them all to sit at their own table for their meal. With Ten and Taemin available to translate, as well as Kun occasionally, and his own limited knowledge, it made the meals a little more bearable. They were . . . nice, after all, even if they seemed more distant and careful with their words now that they were back within the walls of Weishen, a stark change to the men they’d met in that tavern. 

Taeyong loved being able to learn more about Lucas’s friends even if they were a little intimidating in a way he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way that Dejun was armed even as they ate, or the way he’d seen the weapons the other had carried, like Kunhang’s heavy twin axes, or even just the fact that Sicheng, who was such an unknown, trusted them. 

His closest advisors, Ten had murmured last night as they’d all slept piled into one bed in the small tavern room. His Lieshou — the fiercest hunters this side of the sea, some people said, men who were loyal to The Matriarch. 

No matter how young YangYang and Kunhang looked or how Dejun appeared softer as he stuffed his face he couldn’t forget that they were, perhaps, a threat. Gods, he hoped not.

“You even _look_ like a fae,” the boy closest to him — YangYang — spoke with a moderate accent, grinning wide as conversation bustled around them. Taeyong blinked a few times, caught off guard. “Kun says I should speak lots of languages. I’m still learning,” he offered in explanation. “Can I see your ears?” He’d usually never even consider such a thing but he looked so . . . earnest. After a moment’s deliberation, he nodded and quirked his lips as his fingers brushed back some pale hair, showcasing the faintest point to his ear which had the boy letting out a pleased hum. “That’s so _cool_.” With that last word he’d slipped back into his own tongue, but Taeyong just chuckled.

“ _Thank you. Yuta’s are better_ ,” he offered as best he could. It was worth it just to see how excited he seemed. 

“ _Gege!_ ” A voice called sometime later, accompanied by hurried footsteps as two young boys came into view, barely old enough to be called men, even, their cheeks still holding a faint softness that came with youth even if they had the same sharpness as all the people here. Hardened. One stood taller with a wider jaw and blue-black hair which shone in the light, the other just a little shorter with a faded blonde that was a little cooler than Baekhyun’s and dark roots shining through, both dressed in dark clothes that seemed to be common here. 

“ _You’re late again_ ,” he heard Kun sigh, leaning back in his chair as he regarded the duo. The two boys instantly broke into a mismatched conversation that Taeyong could only faintly understand involved training and something about a sword and . . . peaches, maybe, but it was still enough to have him smiling at the warmth and life it filled the space with. Even Kun seemed to have relaxed, his expression incredibly fond, parental even. 

“ _Be careful around that one. Now, sit. Eat. Be polite_ ,” Kun instructed. “This is Chenle and Renjun,” he explained as he switched to their language, patting the dark-haired boy’s — Chenle’s — back as they sat and tucked into their food. “Apprentices.” This place was so odd, but Taeyong didn’t hate it, not like he wanted to.

“They’re good people,” Ten murmured when he brought it up in the late afternoon, sitting on worn stone steps and watching as pairs sparred in the courtyard (courtyard was generous considering it was just a large slab of cracked and chipped stone they seemed to use for training, surrounded by trees and small structures) at the rear of the house and stroking fingers over his palm. “It’s different, here. They have to be willing to do anything to survive,” the warlock explained. “They protect each other no matter what.”

“Like us, then.”

Ten smiled. “Like us.”

-

Baekhyun wasn’t the most knowledgeable when it came to forms of magic even if Jongdae and Yixing had taught him things that Ten and Taemin never had — he felt like he understood their magic, to a degree, but he wasn’t sensitive to it. He was _just_ human. Whilst the others had fancy tricks and their magic to rely on against any foes who were so gifted, all he had was his knives and wit. 

He didn’t have a complex about it, it was just . . . frustrating, sometimes, like _now_.

They’d been informed late afternoon that they’d be accompanying the Lieshou out into the forest once the sun went down to continue the search for Lucas, and for the first time they were able to get a clear, truthful explanation of what exactly they were dealing with.

“Magic in Zhong Hua is different from what Taemin and I have, or what Yuta and Taeyong wield,” Ten had explained quietly as they’d gathered by the front gate in the golden light of the afternoon. Even as he spoke he fussed with Mark’s hair as though to distract himself. “Hundreds of years ago their female ancestors made deals with demons to gain their power so that they could protect their families and homes during years of wars; it’s hereditary, but it doesn’t dilute as obviously as blood — only women have magic here, so it’s naturally a matriarchal society. Your blood doesn’t matter much in the long run, just how strong you are.”

“Blood doesn’t matter much,” Kun offered as he and the others stepped out from the main doors, strapped to the heavens with weapons and dark clothing that was obviously made for the hunt. Seeing them like this, Baekhyun could finally understand the whispers he’d heard about their reputations. Even the younger ones looked every part the trained warriors they were said to be. Lethal. “But it’s still taken into consideration, since some bloodlines are naturally stronger, like Yukhei’s.” He observed as some of the others perked at the mention of Lucas’s birth name, obviously understanding that much at least. “Deals with demons are never perfect, though — his mother was the younger sister of our last Mistress, one of our fiercest fighters, but . . .” Kun seemed to consider what was worth saying, words hanging on his tongue before another figure stepped forth from the shadows.

The last time they’d seen Sicheng, he’d been dressed in robes which were slightly more ornamental, yet now . . . well, he was dressed just like the others, the only difference being the fact he was free of any sort of weapon or defence. It was so easy to see the way that even now they served him, gravitating around him as guards; they were all so perfectly in sync. 

Yuta let out a dreamy sigh from where he was standing a few feet away. “You look exceptionally gorgeous tonight,” he complimented in a playful, sing-song tune, yet all he received in return was a mix of confusion (from the Lieshou who didn’t understand, save for YangYang who’s eyes widened comically), exasperation (from Kun, and Baekhyun, and his company), and a cold, disinterred glance from Sicheng. Baekhyun was starting to think that perhaps Sicheng was more worthy of the title of ‘ice prince’ than Minseok.

Sicheng said a few clipped words before Kun nodded in response. “Their bloodline was cursed; they have a direct link back to one of those ancestors and unfortunately, any sons that have been born over the last few hundred years have been . . . affected. Most died in the womb or during birth,” the blond explained, “but those that were born often didn’t survive long anyway — they had no capacity for magic, but the resentful energy that our people filter with their own bodies clings to them like a magnet. It was a miracle Yukhei was born, let alone that he survived at all, but if it hadn’t been for his mother then . . .”

“He would’ve been killed,” Ten finished quietly. Kun simply nodded. So much of this posed far more questions than it answered and Baekhyun didn’t know where to start.

“Even those who survived into their teen years often lost themselves to the curse, if they managed to hold off that long. Our people call them _wangliang_. Monsters. They’re pure, dark energy possessing a human form.”

Baekhyun’s fingers curled into pale fists. “Lucas is still in there,” he insisted. “He’s _strong_ , he wouldn’t—“

“Hyung,” Ten interrupted softly from his side and laid a warm palm on his forearm, forehead creased. “It’s . . . he is strong, we know that, but _this_ is strong too. You haven’t seen the things that I have — he’s not in control, not always.”

“How are we going to bring him in, then?” Jongin asked with obvious tension in his voice and Baekhyun didn’t miss the way his grip tightened around the spear in his hands. “I won’t hurt him, Ten.”

“You might not have a choice if he comes at you,” Kun mumbled. “Yukhei is coming for us — we don’t have the advantage of surprise,but we at least know where he’s going and what he wants. That is something we _can_ to use our advantage, to make sure the plan works.”

“Plan?” Taeyong parroted.

Sicheng stepped forward and raised one of his hands up to hover in front of him, palm upturned and fingers relaxed as his eyelashes gave the barest of flutters. Even for Baekhyun, who was by no means sensitive to magic in any sense, he could _feel_ the magic which radiated off him in waves, something dark and . . . well, dare he say evil? It sure as hell felt like it. Barely a second passed before those dark whispers of mist he’d seen wrap around Lucas all those months ago on the battlefield rose from the ground and trailed up his body to gather in his palm, dancing like a trained pet.

“Mine,” Sicheng declared, the word thick and firm but unmistakable.

So the was his magic, hmm? It was . . . well, Baekhyun would say it was definitely a risk, but knowing that Sicheng could control the energy which permeated Lucas’s body and had warped his mind, it could be an advantage — if they could trust him to keep his word. If not, then Lucas could fall into the wrong hands. It was a risk, certainly, but did they really have any other viable options?

“I wasn’t aware he was coming with us,” Taemin spoke neutrally as Sicheng sucked that energy into his own body and stepped past them to start walking into the forest; even his expression gave nothing away.

“Sicheng doesn’t like staying behind,” Kun mumbled as he passed by and took his place barely a step behind his leader, the others quickly falling into place in a faint v formation like he often saw ducks flying in during their migrations. “Unlike your lords and ladies, our leaders don’t often hide behind armies.”

Jongin didn’t look offended, but Baekhyun was going to be offended _for him_. Like hell their king hid behind _anything_ , not after what they’d endured, what _he’d_ endured—

“Hyung?” Baekhyun blinked twice in quick succession before adjusting his gaze to his right where Mark was standing and watching with a measured look, head cocked to where everyone was starting to follow. He let out a deep, steady breath that lasted a few seconds before he smiled and stepped forward to join him, slinging an arm around the younger’s shoulders. When had Mark grown up so much, hmm?

“Come on,” he hummed, “let’s go bring him home, yeah?”

Easier said than done.

On one hand, it seemed that they didn’t really need to go hunting, per se, not when it was quickly becoming evident that they were the lure — not them specifically, but their newest allies. _Sicheng_. Baekhyun had expected that they’d slip off into the forest and get on his trail yet instead they’d only ventured far enough to not bring anything close to the house before he’d held his hand up for them to stop, speaking quick orders to his men who followed without question. 

“We’re to stay back,” Taemin prompted, “unless he calls on us.” Baekhyun didn’t like it one bit, and really, he was sure he wasn’t alone in that, but no one else had voiced any protests so far, so as much as it pained him, he did keep his mouth shut and fall into line behind the Lieshou, just _watching_. He hated the waiting game; Baekhyun had never been particularly patient even as he’d matured.

Still, it was rather interesting to watch. Even if he didn’t understand any of it. Whatever they were doing was obviously dark magic, darker than anything he’d ever witnessed with his own eyes, but if it meant getting Lucas back . . . well, he’d already discerned that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. This was no exception. Sharp eyes watched as Sicheng held a hand out without looking and one of them — Kunhang — pressed a blade into his grip, a blade which he then used to carve a thick line down his palm; blood spilt down onto the soil beneath him, and from it rose trails of malevolent magic which trailed through the air like sentient shadows. It was utterly menacing, yet entrancing nonetheless.

For a few tense minutes, the forest was silent. Not silence that was filled by the traces of the world around them, like trickling water and brushing leaves, growing trunks, but the sort of silence that was empty and foreboding, the sort where the only sound that managed to break through the thickness of it was their own breaths and the hammering of Baekhyun’s heart in his chest.

“Yukhei,” Sicheng suddenly spoke.

“Sicheng,” a far too familiar voice returned, the only warning they had before, only a breath later, a tall figure was emerging from the shadows of the forest.

Baekhyun felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs. 

The man before him . . . it was Lucas, but it _wasn’t_. His honeyed hair was slicked back off his forehead save for a few pieces that fell free and dangled over his forehead, jaw a little more angular in a way that could almost be considered gaunt, but Baekhyun was starting to wonder if perhaps it was just a result of the way he was holding himself. Lucas had never been overly shy but he’d never seen him like this.

Gone was the sweet boy full of smiles and laughter who’d weaselled his way into his heart (and bed), replaced by a figure who wore his skin yet somehow managed to present as a completely different being. It was hard to pinpoint each little nuance yet the more he stared the more he noticed, from the way he stood to the position of his brows and the way he seemed so cocky, not in a playful way but in a way that was incredibly menacing; one look at this man and you could tell he was trouble.

Then there were the eyes of course. Those warm, russet brown eyes he’d stared into time and time again had been wiped away entirely as though they’d never existed in the first place, replaced by an endless expanse of white, bordered with faint, dark veins which spread out from around his eyes — his entire body was permeated with the energy that swirled around his feet, sinister shadows which made his blood run cold. 

Baekhyun managed to take a single step forward towards his lover before Taemin’s hand was curling firmly around his bicep and pulling him back into place; his own expression was openly troubled. 

A pale, lifeless gaze swept over them briefly and didn’t linger on any single one of them, yet whatever he saw seemed to be something he found amusing given the way one side of his mouth twitched into a dark little grin, something completely satisfied and sinister. How could this be their Lucas? The boy who wedged his toes into Baekhyun’s thighs when he was too cold and whined about how his food was too hot until someone humoured him and blew on it, who would cling to him and whisper how much he loved him with tears in his eyes. There seemed to be nothing remaining of that man.

“I didn’t think I was worthy of such a reception,” Lucas drawled as he took a few long, slow steps forward, that great sword he’d always favoured trailing in the earth behind him and clanging against stones, the noise enough to make his hair stand on end. His voice was so _cold_ and _empty_ , devoid of anything. The next words that flowed from his mouth weren’t words that Baekhyun could understand yet the way that those who could had tensed and hissed was enough to let him know that, whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Baekhyun was at a loss as the conversation continued and only served to grow more and more heated and strained, words being hissed at them by the man they were here to save, his lips curled into a fierce snarl as that power whipped around him like a hurricane, clinging to his body like a possessive lover. Despite the words being spat their way Sicheng seemed to remain calm, even as his Lieshou seemed to falter with obvious pain flickering across their features.

“ _Yukhei_ ,” Ten shouted in a half-sob so agonised that Baekhyun’s heart lurched in his chest. For the first time, Lucas seemed to falter; the figure jerked as though he was shocked but didn’t turn his gaze to Ten when long fingers curled tighter around the pommel of his sword. “ _Xuxi_ , sweetheart. You’re stronger than this— I know you’re still in there, you just need to keep fighting no matter what.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “You didn’t have anything to apologise for, Yukhei, this isn’t you.”

Lucas let out a cold, strained laugh that filled the night air. “But it is.” His own voice was . . . not sad, but there was _something_ there, instead of nothing. “You shouldn’t have come here, _baobei_. Now I have to kill you too.”

When the other male took a step forward the very world seemed to slow around them. 

It took Baekhyun a few long moments to realise that Sicheng had raised one of his hands and that the energy curling around Lucas’s figure was starting to creep across the space towards his outstretched palm like it was bending to his will; the world wasn’t frozen, but Lucas’s motions were, his whole body trembling before he stumbled towards the other with a strained expression. “Stop,” he hissed, sound disjointed and warped. Sicheng just beckoned him closer and Lucas . . . it seemed that Lucas couldn’t resist the pull.

Baekhyun just barely managed to stop himself surging forward when Lucas fell to his knees a few feet away from Sicheng and grasped at the ground with pale knuckles, his sword forgotten in the dirt and his body just shy of convulsing. _Shit_. More than just controlling that malevolent energy it was starting to become apparent that Sicheng was draining some of it into his own body — his eyes were fluttering as dark tendrils seeped into his skin but his men didn’t look _surprised_ , just concerned. Resigned.

After what felt like an eternity Lucas slumped a little and almost choked in an effort to suck air into his lungs. The movements of his shoulders were no longer dark laughter but silent sobs. He demanded something in a weak, agonised voice. Eyes fluttered up to look at Sicheng and, even from where Baekhyun was standing, he could see those brown hues that had returned, albeit a bit cloudy and flickering like he was struggling to remain present. This time . . . this time he let himself start walking forward, and this time no one stooped him. 

“Lucas—“ he started only to lose all his resolution when Lucas’s eyes turned to him with such a vibrant pain that it struck him dead in his tracks and caused his throat to seize. “Lucas.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” the younger managed through tears. “You were supposed to _kill_ me—“ Sicheng shoved Lucas’s shoulder enough to make him almost keel over before the man dropped to his knees and guided Lucas to rest his head on his chest with one slender hand cradling his head in a way that was far more gentle than he ever would’ve imagined Sicheng capable of. When he spoke again his voice was barely audible and so incredibly _soft_. Lucas just sobbed and clutched at him like a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _“I love you!” Shit, shit, now Lucas was raising his voice and getting obviously a little distressed and this was exactly what they were trying to avoid and Mark didn’t know what to do to stop it. “I never hated you, even then— you think I did those things out of hate?” Lucas chuckled, a dark, pained sound. “Love isn’t exclusively human, Ten; even without my humanity, I had that, at least. I guess I forgot you can just leave someone flowers instead of dead bodies.”_


	11. chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It becomes increasingly evident that finding Lucas was probably the easiest part; everyone struggles with the aftermath in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, I hope you're all staying safe and well! I know things are chaotic right now in a lot of countries for a number of reasons but please take care of yourself ♡ I'm really sorry it's taken me a while to get this update out but I've been so busy finishing this semester whilst juggling my mental health and some other things, so I really haven't had any sort of time to write, and to be honest I just haven't felt up to it. I've had to up my medication which sucks, but hopefully it'll make it easier for me to focus and type!
> 
> there's,,, a bit of angst, but also a lot of comfort, I feel like, so I really hope you enjoy it! Things will definitely be getting hectic again in the next few chapters : )
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- mild panic attacks/allusions to ptsd  
> \- everyone is emotionally stunted in some regard lmao what's new

Once upon a time, Taemin had taken all of them for granted — especially Lucas. His years before them had been so void of anything; of life, of joy, of emotion in general after spending so long closing himself off from the world. When he’d first stumbled across their mismatched little entourage he hadn’t thought much of them at all, yet from the start they’d all been so . . . _wel_ l. Maybe it’d taken a while for some of them to warm up to him or be completely comfortable, but they’d been _kind_ from the start. They hadn’t really known what he was but they’d still seen him as something of worth.

Most of them had been understandably hesitant back then even with his charm managing to dampen it; Lucas had been the only exception. From the day Taemin had approached them it was Lucas who’d had no reservations about clinging to his side and including him in their lives. Admittedly, Taemin’s first impression had been that he was incessantly loud and grating, but as time passed he’d come to understand the other sides of him — to appreciate them. His heart would tick when Lucas would fall asleep beside him and end up slumping in close, head pillowed on his shoulder in a way that, at first, had made him feel sick until eventually, he realised that it wasn’t a _bad_ feeling.

He’d liked it.

Lucas had been one of the only ones who could get away with certain things, like waking him up before he was ready or stealing food off his plate, for the sole reason that scolding Lucas wasn’t far off scolding a puppy. Once he’d used the analogy with the thought that Lucas was mindless and an oaf, but Taemin knew that wasn’t the case — it was more like . . . his unwavering loyalty and bright personality, the way he saw the best in absolutely everybody, even _him_. 

Years ago Taemin had joked that the day Lucas stopped smiling would be the day the world ended.Perhaps he hadn’t been so far off.

It was early hours of the morning, early enough that the sun hadn’t yet begun to breach the horizon, yet Taemin had no want nor need to sleep right now. His eyes were only half focused on the night sky he could see through the window, the only sounds around him the steady thrum of Jongin’s heart in the bed behind him and his breaths. A soothing tune, honestly. He doubted Jongin would be asleep right now if he hadn’t used his magic to aid the process after seeing his distress; he couldn’t blame him for the state he’d worked himself into after seeing Lucas again, after they’d had to subdue him and let Ten peacefully knock him out so that they could actually bring him back here, to Weishen House.

All Taemin could think of was what they’d seen. What he’d heard.

“Don’t pretend you care to save your skin,” Lucas had hissed. “We were supposed to be brothers! But you all threw me aside without any hesitation when you realised I was too much effort. You chose them, _this_ , over me.”

“We stayed for you, Yukhei, you know that,” Sicheng had answered quietly. The only thing that’d given away that the vicious words were eating at him was the twitch to his brow. “It would’ve meant nothing if we’d all run away and hidden like vermin. We’re building a better world, Yukhei. For _all_ of us.”

“ _I’ll build it with your bones_.” 

Taemin swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. Lucas’s face, Lucas’s voice, Lucas’s everything, yet it was like . . . he couldn’t say it wasn’t him, but it wasn’t a man he recognised; a dark, perverted version of the man he loved.

“You’re _nothing_ to me. You think it’ll hurt me to kill you but it’s the opposite — I’ve been dreaming of this since you abandoned me. You think your title can save you? Your magic? The others? I’ll rip you all apart,” he’d all but snarled. “I’ll tear down everything you’ve built, brick by brick, and you won’t be here to see any of it.”

A small, barely audible creak resounded from one of the doors in the hallway, a few down from his own; Taemin’s lips twitched ever so slightly as he counted the steps that followed until they passed his room. Twenty-five, which meant . . . Yuta, then. Part of him wanted to get up and pry his door open just a little to see where the other was going despite the clear curfews in place, and it was the stronger part of him, urging his body to shift across the bed carefully and move to stand until he heard a soft noise behind him. “Min?” Jongin slurred in his sleep, one hand curling out weakly like searching for him. 

Taemin was torn.

In the end, he sighed and draped his body back across the mattress so that he could pillow his head on the other’s chest. “Sleep,” the dark-haired male whispered, words filled with a small trace of magic which soothed his lover back into dreams. Taemin tried to put Yuta from his mind.

-

“You can’t keep us from him,” Jongin had half-seethed, half-begged from beside him, dark circles having found a home under his eyes during the night and his hair dishevelled as they stood in the hallway. It was a sight that hurt Mark to see — Jongin so obviously distressed — but the truth of the situation was that all of them were in a similar condition after what they’d endured last night. He’d be amazed if any of them had gotten any sort of rest or reprieve in the hours since they’d returned and the sun had risen.

“Sicheng didn’t _fix_ anything, he just absorbed some of the energy; Yukhei needs to be kept calm if we want him to be stable, and all of you barging in there is going to overwhelm him,” Kun tried to placate, his own eyes rimmed red. He looked exhausted. “One or two at a time is all we can risk now and even that . . . I’m not trying to argue with you when I say you can’t understand what he’s been through. He remembers _everything_. He’s not just going to be _better_.”

“We don’t expect that,” Mark spoke up softly, fiddling with the ring on his finger even as his voice wavered. “You’re right, we can’t— gods, of course we don’t understand, but we want to . . . if it won’t _hurt_ him, even if we could just see him, let him know we’re here for him . . .” Kun sighed, averting his gaze to one of the walls. It was early morning, far too early, really, considering the sun had only just fully breached the horizon, yet they’d all been up and leaving their rooms to try and get answers as to where Lucas was and whether he was okay.

“He’s not going to be the same,” Kun warned quietly. “You need to be patient and understand his limits. Try not to upset him or make him feel overwhelmed. I know it’s hard but you’re going to have to take turns for now, and just for a little while unless you’re willing to sit outside his room and take over for the others.” Of course he had guards. A precaution. “He said he might be ready to see Mark, and Ten.” Mark winced at the few sharp inhales that filled the air around him, feeling oddly guilty, but also so fucking relieved even if that was selfish of him; he hadn’t seen Lucas in so, so long, and he knew he wasn’t the only one but surely he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to see him now even if it meant the others would have to wait.

Mark swallowed thickly and glanced over at the others a little nervously to garner their reactions, but Baekhyun just gave him a tight little nod and a faint twitch of his lips, whereas when Jongin seemed to realise he was searching for approval he blinked a few times before forcing himself to relax and squeezing his shoulder. It was a relief when Ten linked their hands together so that they could follow after Kun.

They’d pointedly been told that under no circumstances were they to venture into the halls that ran below Weishen House, yet that was exactly where Kun had led them — sure, it piqued his curiosity, but this wasn’t the time for him to pry.

All he could focus on was Lucas.

The room they were led to was . . . less of a room than he expected. There was a break in the stone wall which opened up into a small but cosy little room that was filled with light from what looked like a _window_ even though they were underground, making it look as though the room was looking out to a beautiful forest. There was no door to go in, no walls, it was just open, except the more Mark looked the more he realised there was a shimmer in front of them. _Magic_.

“He can’t see or hear us,” Kun explained and sure enough the figure sitting on the bed didn’t react in the slightest or look their way, just picking idly at the threads of the blanket in his lap. “We can go in freely but he can’t walk out. When we realised it was Yukhei, Sicheng was quick to repurpose some other enchantments and put them to use. Even if he lapses this is strong enough to hold him."

Mark was so fucking grateful that they hadn’t made this look like a cell. There was a soft rug on the floor and the bed looked pleasant, filled with pillows and blankets; the walls looked like the ones upstairs rather than the stone that surrounded them and the window looked so _real_. To the right of the room was a sitting chair and a small desk as well as a chest for clothes. It looked comfortable. Cosy.

Lucas, on the other hand, looked utterly desolate. His eyes were puffy and red, nose flushed and shiny like he’d been crying, but there was a lost, far-away look in his gaze that made his heart ache in his chest. Gods. 

He heard Ten let out a shaky breath beside him and his fingers tightened around his own.

“I’ll give you some privacy. Just . . . be careful.” Mark knew he wasn’t talking about Lucas hurting them, not now — no, he was talking about the effect they could have on him right now. It was Ten who stepped through the barrier first and led him forward by their hands until he too was in the room; passing through it was such an odd sensation, so unlike anything he’d really felt, like cool water lapping at his skin. It was oddly refreshing.

“Xuxi?” Mark watched with bated breath as Lucas slowly looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the rug, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he finally caught sight of them, and then, without any warning, his eyes were filling with tears. “Oh, sweetheart— no, don’t cry,” Ten tried to placate as he rushed forward to ease onto the edge of the bed and reached out to take Lucas’s hands; it was such a simple motion but the moment their fingers brushed Lucas’s expression shifted to something almost panicked and he yanked himself backwards, scrambling back into the corner of the bed and trying to make himself as small as possible. Ten let out a wounded sort of noise.

“Ten,” Mark quickly interrupted as he moved as quickly as he dared and tried to ease the elder back a bit. “Lucas, hey, it’s just us. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” the other rasped with shaky breaths. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . .”

“You don’t have to apologise, Lucas.” Carefully, very carefully, Mark eased himself to sit on the edge of the bed, but he made sure to leave a lot of room between them and offered a small smile that came far too easy despite the painful chasm in his chest. “You’re allowed to say no, if something’s too much. Do you . . . what was it that upset you?” The silence stretched on so long that Mark wasn’t sure if he’d even get a reply.

“My hands,” Lucas finally murmured barely above a whisper. “They— I did so many things, I don’t want you to touch my hands.” It was like a punch to the gut but Mark had far too much experience hiding how much things bothered him for the sake of others so his expression only softened a little bit at the admission. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve thought, I just . . . it’s just so good to see you,” Ten breathed out. Mark could see how much the elder just wanted to surge forward and pull Lucas into his arms but thankfully he had some semblance of self-control, instead curling his fingers into the blankets underneath them. “I missed you so much, Lucas.”

Lucas finally began to unravel from himself a little and sat up properly rather than curling away from them but he still didn’t meet their gaze again, focusing on his lap and offering a weak smile that didn’t even begin to touch his eyes. “You saw me a few times,” he pointed out.

“That wasn’t—“

“It was me,” Lucas interjected in a firmer voice as red-rimmed eyes finally snapped up. They were so exhausted, so _agonised_ , so . . . so desperate. “It wasn’t like I was suddenly gone, I was there the entire time — I was the one doing _everything_ , and it felt good, Ten, _so good_. I felt so _free_. It wasn’t someone else it was just me . . . without any humanity.”

“No,” Ten said decisively. “The things— it _hated_ me—“

“I love you!” Shit, shit, now Lucas was raising his voice and getting obviously a little distressed and this was exactly what they were trying to avoid and Mark didn’t know what to do to stop it. “I never hated you, even then— you think I did those things out of hate?” Lucas chuckled, a dark, pained sound. “Love isn’t exclusively human, Ten; even without my humanity I had that, at least. I guess I forgot you can just leave someone flowers instead of dead bodies.” Gods, what had even happened?

“You did leave me flowers.” Ten’s voice was barely above a whisper. Mark could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen Ten cry, but now he had one more to add to the tally as a sole tear trailed its way down his cheek, dripping down onto the material of his shirt and darkening the fabric.

“It was always me,” Lucas murmured as though that explained it. “I’ve always hated seeing you cry.”

Ten shifted and wiped away the others tears threatening to spill, and Mark couldn’t help but to reach out and pull him in close, tucking his head against his shoulder and burying his face into dark hair that smelt of the forest as one hand smoothed slowly over his back. He could see the way Lucas was watching them, like he wanted but didn’t think he was worthy of reaching out — it was a look that Mark knew far too intimately. After a moment he offered a soft smile and stretched out his other arm softly. “You don’t have to,” he reassured very softly, “but if you want to, please.”

Lucas was not a small man, yet he somehow managed to tuck himself into the hug so carefully, hunkering down and resting his head in the crook of Mark’s neck as he laid his arm around Lucas’s shoulder gently. It was tentative, but gods, he’d missed this so much. He didn’t miss that Lucas kept his hands tucked into his own body the entire time, but neither of them pointed it out; it seemed to be just his hands that were a problem right now given that he let Ten gently trace patterns over his cheeks as they all sat there on the bed, murmuring soft apologies over and over again even as Ten reassured him he didn’t need to.

They stayed there like that for a while, the noise eventually tapering out until the only sounds that filled the room were their breathing and the thudding of their hearts, but it was . . . it was nice. At least, Mark thought so.

“Do you have questions?” Lucas murmured eventually, voice softer. Did he have questions? Well, of course he did, more than he could probably get out of his mouth, but Mark wasn’t going to start asking now even if it’d sate his curiosity — this wasn’t about him.

“Do you?” Ten had countered after a few moments as he carded through his hair. For a few long moments there was nothing but silence between them, but eventually Lucas seemed to relent, letting out a heavy sigh and pulling himself back just a little to sit up properly. 

“Last night . . . Taeyong? The battle is the one thing I can’t remember very clearly, but he was— hurt, right?” Mark pursed his lips and tried to consider how he was supposed to break this news — after all, the goal was to keep Lucas as calm as possible.

“We thought he was dead,” Mark admitted very slowly after a pause. “Obviously he’s not now, but he was— it’s a long story. One he should probably tell you. But he’s back now and he’s fine, promise. It’s been . . . hard, not having him around.”

“How long?”

“Until a few weeks ago.”

“Two days ago, for me,” Ten chimed in quietly. Lucas didn’t respond for a few seconds but his jaw tightened a little and he seemed to frown, glancing between them. 

“Are _you_ okay?” Mark . . . had not been expecting that question in the slightest, and he hadn’t been expecting it to be directed his way, either. His lips instantly parted to answer, yet he found himself lost for words, syllables caught on his tongue like one of those sticky fly traps Taeyong had always hung in his apothecary. It was such a simple question, right? One that should’ve had an equally simple answer. 

So why couldn’t he say it?

“I’m fine,” he finally managed to get out, but even he could feel that his smile wasn’t quite natural on his face. “We’re all together, now, that’s all that matters.” Lucas didn’t look very impressed with his answer but thankfully he didn’t press further, and Ten? Ten just looked like he _knew_.

As much as he wished they could’ve just stayed there in that room with Lucas forever he knew that he couldn’t, and not just because the others deserved their time with Lucas too; he could see how hard this was for him. “We’ll be back,” he’d promised softly as he’d pressed a small kiss to Lucas’s cheek. “Promise.” Walking out of that room was one of the hardest things he’d had to do in a long time, but it made him feel better to know that Lucas was . . . well, he was alive, and he seemed moderately stable for the moment. 

He should’ve known he couldn’t escape from it just like that. As soon as they stepped out and Ten was finished talking to Kunhang, who seemed relatively friendly, and they got around the first corner, the other was tugging him along with a firmer expression until they were outside rather than heading back up to the others. “Ten—“

“Mark Lee,” the warlock cut him off in a sharp tone that made him wince a little; Mark _knew_ him well enough to know that there was no ice behind his words, just worry, but it still had the desired effect nonetheless. He shut up. “We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to tell me everything.” Mark swallowed thickly before nodding, just staring at the other with eyes that were a little wider than usual as he was led over to sit on the grass, backs against the aged stone of Weishen House. He . . . he’d kept it all inside for so long, hadn’t he? He didn’t even know where to start.

Once the words started coming, they didn’t stop for a long, long time. 

Once upon a time, he’d thought that perhaps he hated Ten, back when he’d been young and stupid; it was ironic that now it felt like maybe he was the one person he could confide in who would truly understand. 

Ten just held him. 

—

Lucas loved them. Lucas had missed them.It didn’t make this any easier. It was hard to look any of them in the eye, and even though he only had to deal with two of them at a time . . . gods, it was so _hard_. How could he meet their gaze knowing what he’d done, what they’d seen, what they must think of him after he’d lost control of himself _again_? How could he face them after the horrors he’d inflicted?

But there was no disgust on their features when they saw him. No fear. Just . . . love. Relief. Each time it was so incredibly overwhelming in a way that he was genuinely struggling to keep on top of, but Lucas was selfish and he wanted it — craved it, like a child who needed to be told they’d done well, that they were worth something. He knew he didn’t deserve it yet he couldn’t help himself.

Seeing Ten and Mark first had been a double-edged sword considering the knowledge of what he’d put Ten through the past six months, but Mark being there had balanced it out just like he’d hoped it would, made it easier to take even if it’d still been incredibly painful. It certainly made the rest seem a little easier, though. His chest had bubbled with anticipation and nerves as he’d waited for someone else to come in, staring at what always looked like just another wall, but he knew that it wasn’t, not when there was no door yet they all stepped through like it was made of nothing but air; when he touched it, though, it felt like solid wood.

Despite the exhaustion that seemed to have settled into the very marrow of his bones, Lucas had been up and pacing by the time the wall was disturbed again, and this time he barely had a moment to think before he was swept up in warm arms; for a brief moment, he panicked. Then the scent of clean cotton and sandalwood washed over his senses and made him melt even as he made sure to keep his arms at his sides. “ _Baekhyun_ ,” he breathed out hoarsely.

“Hey, puppy,” the other mumbled into his throat and squeezed a little tighter. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, hyung.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Don’t,” Lucas cut him off, though as gently as he possibly could. “It’s okay. Ten and Mark explained a lot, it’s fine. Besides I . . . I’m glad you didn’t see me like that, much,” he admitted. The last thing he wanted to do was pull back and lose that warm, comforting grip that the elder had on him, but even if he wished he could he couldn’t hide there forever, and besides . . . 

“Hi, Yukhei,” Taeyong hummed softly, his lips curling into a gentle smile as he finally came into view and tone almost playful in the way he drew out his birth name. Lucas found himself smiling in response and no matter how small it may have been it was genuine. 

“I wasn’t the only one who went on an adventure, huh?” Lucas tried to tease back as he carefully eased himself away from Baekhyun and shifted closer to the other, his hands clammy and trembling a little, but thankfully Taeyong didn’t comment on it or try to touch them — instead he reached up to brush his hair back out of his forehead and smooth his palms down over his cheeks, warm eyes staring at him with such an intense adoration that it made his heart stutter.

“I’m glad you didn’t know,” Taeyong admitted, and Lucas . . . he agreed, honestly. If he’d known that Taeyong had died, if he’d been mourning, too, whilst he’d been . . . like that . . . then he wasn’t sure what sort of effect it could’ve had. “I’m glad we found you. I wish it was sooner.” Lucas’s smile tightened a little at that but he nodded and leant into the other’s hands, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” was all he answered. “I missed you, too.”

It was calmer, with them. For a while it felt like his worries weren’t eating away at him as he leant back against Baekhyun’s chest and focused on the arms wrapped around him, his eyes soft and almost drifting closed every few seconds as he listened to Taeyong talk about his time away. He had a name for the unfamiliar face he’d seen last night though it took him a few minutes to realise that the name was already familiar to him.

“Yuta?” He repeated, brows furrowing a little as his attention refocused. “That’s your friend?”

“Um, yes? Why?”

Lucas pursed his lips a little to try and fight back the way that he almost (almost being the keyword) felt like laughing. “I heard them teasing Sicheng this morning about someone called Yuta. Apparently Yuta ‘fancies’ him.” Baekhyun snorted from behind him and the noise resonated throughout his chest. 

“You’re not wrong. Dunno what Yuta sees in him — no offence — he just seems so . . . cold. Scares the shit out of me.”

“Sicheng isn’t really the boy I remember,” Lucas admitted slowly after a few moments, picking at his own fingernails, “but then again I’m not who I was back then, either. We all grew up.” He looked up to meet Taeyong’s gaze, then. “He’s different, but I know he’s a good man. They all are. I don’t know if it’s . . . good, that your friend is interested, though.” He wasn’t going to be dishonest, after all, he just didn’t know how much he should say, or what was even his to tell. “Sicheng has never enjoyed that sort of attention before and from the sounds of it, he hates it even more now. It’s always been hard for him.”

“I’ll speak to Yuta,” Taeyong promised him with a soft squeeze of his knee. “Do you want a rest, before the others come down?” Lucas opened his mouth instinctively to say no, but there was something about the other’s expression like he could read right through him. It was a question yet Taeyong seemed to know the real answer anyway.

Lucas sighed. “Just a little one. I’ve been struggling to keep my eyes open all morning.”

“I noticed. Don’t worry, even if Jongin can be impatient he’s got Taemin with him. They’ll be fine,” Baekhyun murmured as he pressed a kiss to his shoulder and began the slow process of unfolding himself from where he’d been clinging to Lucas. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll see you again. Promise.”

He’d expected Jongin to be angry with him for the fact he’d broken the seal in a desperate attempt to save his life, but instead the elder had just pulled him against his chest and cried into his hair for a while as Taemin had sat beside them, rubbing a warm hand over his back. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Lucas.”

“I don’t know if I can live with myself,” he’d sniffed quietly. “With what I’ve done.”

“Then don’t.” Lucas’s eyes widened a little at that and he pulled back from Jongin, his expression almost a little hurt before Taemin sighed and shook his head. “I won’t lie and say you’ll ever forget what you did, or that it’ll ever be easy. You might not ever be able to put it behind you. But we’re all here for you, Lucas, and if you can’t find it in yourself to live with yourself then . . . until you _can_ , live for something else,” Taemin prompted as he reached out to affectionally graze knuckles over his cheek. What caught Lucas so off guard was the fact that, well, his eyes were so filled with understanding — like not only could he sympathise, but like he truly knew exactly what he was feeling. He knew Taemin had been alive a long time, but was it possible? That he’d been through anything remotely similar to this?

“Like what?”

Taemin just smiled and pinched his cheek softly like he was being silly. “Me, of course.”

“What did you . . .”

“The sunrise,” the warlock answered honestly in a much more tender voice. “Each night, I’d wait for the sunrise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _Jongin clicked his tongue in his mouth and listened harder as he shifted on his feet, not moving very much or taking a step but still trying to remain aware of his surroundings. He knew that five steps ahead there was a tree. Twelve steps behind. He also knew he wasn’t alone._
> 
> _Something sharp whizzed through the air perhaps four inches from the side of his head and he grinned, whirring around on his heel and swiping at the air before him, but only a moment later a sharp pain erupted in his wrist and the sword was dropped, clattering on the soil below as he was shoved backwards._


	12. chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life stops for no one, but healing takes time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a surprise update because this is my last week of the semester and I want to celebrate, not to mention it's my birthday (ew) in a few weeks. Hopefully I'll be able to update a lot more in the holidays while I have free time and I'm hoping to actually finish this within the next month or so! Thank you to everyone who's been supporting me. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly fluff as a treat, but it does serve a purpose! What purpose? You'll see : ' ) eventually
> 
> hope you're all staying safe and healthy

“You know,” Taeyong hummed quietly as they stared out at the stone courtyard from one of the numerous sheltered steps of Weishen House, “I know you’ve been sneaking out at night since we got here.” They’d only been staying here for four days so far, yet each and every night without fail he’d heard the other fae slip out of his room and off into the halls, even though that was one of the few strict rules they were supposed to follow. Taeyong couldn’t deny he was concerned about aggravating their hosts.

People here weren’t . . . to be honest, he couldn’t really complain. They had a roof over their heads and food, and very few people had been outwardly rude to them — even those who had had been scolded by Kun, who certainly seemed to hold a lot of respect around here — but it wasn’t _home_. Not to mention the inevitable fact that they just didn’t belong here. Not really. Taeyong had a very, very mild understanding of the language and some of the others were worse off than him, so it made communication even harder; in a way, it only made this whole experience so much more difficult and disjointed. 

They had Lucas back, though, and having him here gave them all something to focus on. In a way, he supposed it also allowed them to form a tentative bridge between themselves and his family. Sicheng was still just as unreachable and ominous as he had been when they’d first arrived but the others . . . well, he liked to think that they’d been warming up to each other. They seemed to trust Ten which, honestly, was probably the only reason the others had ever given them the time of day at first

YangYang had been the first Taeyong had really gotten to know if just because the kid was so inquisitive and, well, friendly. No matter how much he smiled, though, Taeyong never quite forgot that he’d earned the title he had along with his ‘brothers’, and over the past few days he’d seen them training enough to know that he was more than worthy of it. The way they fought . . . it was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

He was getting to know the others too, though — Kunhang was a little harder to understand but Taeyong thought the kid was endearing even if he was wicked with his axes, certainly funny. Hell, even Dejun seemed to be warming up to him too, after all his efforts, and he’d begun to realise that he was actually rather friendly and easygoing (the others still couldn’t comprehend how he had managed to befriend Dejun, because Baekhyun had mumbled that he always looked so angry, which had led to Taeyong wheezing uncontrollably as he tried to explain that it was just his eyebrows).

Kun was kind to everyone but reserved. Taeyong still couldn’t quite get a read on him.

Yuta let out a soft, somewhat strained chuckle and crossed his hands over his raised knees. There was a faint smile painted on his lips even though he hadn’t turned his gaze away from where Mark was cajoling around with the three of them — Kunhang, YangYang and Dejun. “Well, I wasn’t really trying to hide it,” the elder mused. “I’ve been . . . busy.”

“Busy?”

“Mhmm.” Finally, Yuta turned to actually meet his gaze and smirked, eyes sparking. “I’ve been experimenting with enchantments,” he explained. All Taeyong did was arch an eyebrow and stroke his fingers over Lucky’s feathers; she kept letting out pleased little trills and pushing her beak into his palm for more. The last time Yuta has been ‘experimenting’ with magic, he’d almost blown up his cottage, and Taeyong really, _really_ didn’t want to have to worry about explaining damage right now. “Don’t look at me like that — you’re going to _love_ this,” Yuta insisted as he pulled a small, nondescript woven bangle from his pockets, a variety of brown threads twisted together intricately and folding around a small stone that was engraved with a fae rune. He wasn’t a master at understanding the runes, but . . . understanding?

Taeyong let out a huff through his nostrils before he gave in and took the bangle to slide it around his wrist, tightening the ties so that it was snug and wouldn’t fall off. He waited, unsure of what to expect, except . . . literally _nothing_ changed.

“Do you think all the boys are that handsome where they come from?” He heard one of the passing women say to her friend in a playful whisper, two sets of eyes sneaking a glance their way as they walked off. The white-haired male was completely and utterly helpless to the heat that rose in his cheeks. He . . . _what_? Was that really what they— wait, _wait_ , how had he even . . .

“How long have you been wearing one?” Taeyong asked, exasperated. Yuta positively beamed and pulled a woven cord from around his throat which showed a similar rune.

“Two days — just enough to make sure it works well. Long enough to pick up on _lots_ of juicy gossip; you’d be surprised what people are willing to talk about when they think you can’t understand them.”

“You’re terrible,” he chided even as a pleased grin spread over his lips and he looked around, eyes wide with curiosity and interest as he finally found himself able to understand the words filling the air properly. This . . . this was going to be invaluable. 

“Hey! You should be praising me, I did this for you.” Taeyong snorted.

“No you didn’t. You did it so you could talk to _Sicheng_ , didn’t you?”

Yuta offered an unapologetic grin and winked.

“Yuta, I just . . . what do you see in him?” That earned him a quiet, resigned sigh.  


“Have you ever looked at someone,” Yuta breathed after a few moments of silence between them, his eyes barely focused as he spoke, “and just . . . _known_ that they’re supposed to be in your life? At first, I just couldn’t believe how gorgeous he was, it was like I couldn’t even breathe — it was like he was the sun, you know? It hurt to look at him but I just couldn’t stop. I still can’t. Can’t you see it? How . . . how _strong_ his soul is? I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Taeyong pursed his lips and simply watched his friend as he spoke; he wanted to say that he didn’t understand any of it, but truthfully he did. Even back then, when he’d seemed so human, he’d felt that pull — it was what had drawn him to Mark and the others. It’d been utterly unavoidable. Taeyong had a problem with the idea of fate or anything remotely related to it, such as, well, the idea of soulmates, but he did find himself a little fond of the idea that certain souls were more in tune. Meant to find each other, maybe.

Sicheng was an unknown variable at best, though. A threat at worst. 

“We don’t know him. Lucas talks about him fondly but I don’t like the way he looks at you, Yuta. Like you’re not worth his time.”

Yuta shook his head, reached out to set a palm over his hand and squeeze gently. “You don’t need to worry about me, Yong, I’m a big boy. I don’t know how to explain it, but we can trust him. He’s good. Besides,” he added a little more lightheartedly, “he’s not so bad when it’s just us.”

“What—“

“What do you think I’ve been doing the last two nights?” The dark-haired male cackled with his head thrown back. “Sitting on my ass? Had to put it to use.”

“But he—“ 

“Relax. Breathe. All we did was talk a little, and by a little I mean it was mostly me; he threatened to kick my ass for breaking the rules but he hasn’t yet.”

“Mark your words, Yuta.”

It was a warm day, but as far as summer days went it was more the pleasant sort of warmth that soaked into your skin and made you feel so incredibly cosy and pleasant — the kind that was attached to happy memories. The house was a hub of activity, from children running around the halls and courtyards to the mass of people out here training, some actually putting in effort whilst some seemed to be having fun more than anything. They all looked so . . . _happy_.

Even though Taeyong had known that Lucas wouldn’t be stuck in that room forever it’d still caught him off guard to hear doors opening and catch sight of the figures that emerged — Sicheng, who was a regular face out here, and Ten who seemed to have relaxed more around the former lately, followed by a very, very nervous looking Lucas. Despite the fact he towered over both of them usually, he’d hunched in on himself, head ducked down like he was instinctively trying to make himself smaller and hide away, eyes flitting around the yard and throat bobbing. Instinctively, Taeyong moved to stand.

Across the yard, there was excited laughter and waves from the boys and once Taeyong actually looked around he noticed that the few people that’d noticed his arrival were smiling, for the most part, offering reassuring little twists of their lips, some even waving. There were a few who didn’t, though, and pointedly ignored him. 

“Sorry, I’ll catch you later—“

“It’s fine, Taeyong. Go spend some time with them,” Yuta reassured as he gave him a gentle shovel also standing. “I might go see if I can get someone to entertain me with a fight.”

“Please hold back.” The glint in Yuta’s eyes was far from reassuring but Taeyong knew that he didn’t have to be (too) worried. Yuta knew his strength better than Taeyong knew his own, after all.

He was uncharacteristically nervous as he made his way across the yard to where the others had settled under a thicket of trees, Lucas reclined with his head pillowed back on Ten’s shoulders as fingers carded through his hair and Sicheng sitting by their side. Those cool eyes that glanced over him as he approached weren’t hostile, but the fact that he wasn’t really able to get a decent read on the other male never ceased to make him feel a little uneasy. Lucas’s eyes, though, lit up when he caught sight of him; Taeyong couldn’t help but smile as he leant down to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and settle down on the ground with them. “Good day?”

“Better,” Lucas admitted softly with a tired smile. Yesterday had been . . . not the best. Probably the worst day he’d had so far based on what Taeyong had seen but they weren’t really sure what had caused it — Taeyong knew from experience that sometimes there didn’t really need to be a trigger. Sometimes your own mind was enough. “Can I have another kiss?”

“Someone’s being greedy,” the white-haired male teased even as he angled his face closer and brushed their lips together. “You know you don’t need to ask, right?”

“I know.”

Sometimes it was hard, not to push.

“I’m sure they’d love to spar with you, you know,” Taeyong pointed out quietly. It didn’t take a genius to be able to pick up on the longing in Lucas’s eyes as he watched the others train, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted more than anything to join them. Hell, he had to be going stir crazy in that room. Even before he’d always been so full of energy and had seemed to find it difficult staying still unless he was worn out, but now . . . it might be good for him, to work out some of that energy. Perhaps it’d be a better conduit than talking. Lucas instantly shook his head with fervour, though, expression flitting very briefly with a panic that had Sicheng reaching out to set a hand on his arm. 

“No, I couldn’t— I don’t want to hurt anyone.” It felt like being stabbed all over again but Taeyong didn’t let it show. Gods, he didn’t want Lucas to be scared of himself. It took him a moment to register that Lucas had said those words in his native tongue.

“We can train later, Yukhei,” Sicheng reassured in a much more tender voice as he squeezed, palm rubbing over his arm soothingly. “You can’t hurt me, remember?”

“I’d volunteer but I’m not a good fighter,” Taeyong chuckled reassuringly, “but we can work with it, Lucas — I’m sure Taemin wouldn’t mind if you want to, or even Yuta if you’re worried.” All three men stared at him with wide eyes — Sicheng’s head having whipped around with an obvious expression of shock that caught Taeyong off guard — as though he’d grown a third head, and all Taeyong could do was blink slowly a few times before he let out an awkward, breathy laugh. The charm, _of course_. He raised his wrist up and showed off the little bracelet with a shake as he spoke. “Yuta made it for me, he’s got one for everyone actually, but I’m glad it works both ways.” Much more convenient than a one-sided understanding, that was for sure.

“Yuta,” Sicheng repeated slowly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend it. The dark-haired male turned away and seemed to purse his lips, brows knitted together as though he was struggling to piece something together in his mind, but Taeyong couldn’t even begin to guess what that may have been. 

“We’ll see,” Lucas answered after a few moments of silence but at least he seemed to have relaxed again and was smiling in Sicheng’s direction. Like he knew something. Huh. “Can you tell me more about him? Yuta? I haven’t got to meet him properly yet— _ow,_ Ten!” Taeyong descended into laughter as he realised the warlock had pinched his side to shut him up (and that, by some miracle, Sicheng actually looked a little flustered).

“Wong Yukhei—” Sicheng hissed in a whisper only to glance at Taeyong as though he realised he could understand and press his lips shut.

_Oh._

“Sure,” he hummed casually, as though the trio hadn’t just caused a conflicting little scene. “Where should I start?”

-

Somewhere to his right, he could hear faint chirping in the trees — the creak of their trunks as the wind ruffled through their branches, the pitter-patter of little creatures through the undergrowth. Jongin let out a deep exhale through his nostrils and let his body relax. His fingers tightened around the unyielding grip of the sword in his hands, cool leather that warmed to his touch and melded perfectly, a steady weight in his palms. A faint breeze brushed past him and ruffled his hair as a twig snapped somewhere not too far off.

Jongin’s lips curled despite the blindfold tied firmly around his temples.

Another faint rustle that was too big to be a rabbit or any sort of game reached his ears from off behind him and he tilted his head ever so slightly to try and focus as best as he could, every muscle in his body tightly coiled and ready for action. It’d been a very, very long time since he’d had a thrill like this; before he’d returned home, even. That day didn’t count, not with the crushing pain and terror that’d always be attached to it.

Jongin clicked his tongue in his mouth and listened harder as he shifted on his feet, not moving very much or taking a step but still trying to remain aware of his surroundings. He knew that five steps ahead there was a tree. Twelve steps behind. He also knew he wasn’t alone.

Something sharp whizzed through the air perhaps four inches from the side of his head and he grinned, whirring around on his heel and swiping at the air before him, but only a moment later a sharp pain erupted in his wrist and the sword was dropped, clattering on the soil below as he was shoved backwards. Jongin’s hands instinctively rose up in defence as his back hit a solid trunk but rather than a blow, a hand darted down his chest and cupped his length through his trousers. His breath hitched and he stilled.

“You’re so predictable,” Baekhyun rolled the words over his tongue as he spoke, breath washing over his face. “You _always_ move to the right before you strike, Your Majesty, and you always think with _this_.” Another squeeze and Jongin let out a pathetic little wheeze as his hips instinctively bucked forward into the touch. It was mostly pleasure, a hint of pain — just the way he liked it. 

“I thought we were supposed to be practicing?”  


“Practicing what?” Baekhyun chuckled as he nipped at his ear before brushing his lips gently over the frayed edge of the blindfold, like butterflies fluttering over his cheek. “You’re an excellent fighter, most of the time. I can kill a man with my bare hands, or distract them.”

“I need to be _better_ —“

“Why?” The elder hummed teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Because you don’t have magic?” Jongin didn’t give any answer other than a low moan when skilful fingers kneaded against the growing bulge in his trousers. “You don’t _have_ to be strong for everyone, Jongin, but we both know you are.” His pulse jumped a little.

“I . . .” 

Suddenly each touch was gone and he was left leaning heavily against the tree, heated breaths falling from his mouth and vision dark. A sword was pressed back into his palm. “Come on then, Nini. Try to focus this time.”

Jongin took. Few long seconds to catch his breath and try and push down the arousal curling in his gut (he could deal with that later, and besides, he’d always enjoyed the anticipation) before he pushed himself off the tree and altered his stance as he raised the blade up again, focusing on all his other senses. Touch. Sound. Smell. 

“Best out of three,” he finally chuckled. “If I win, we switch rooms tonight and have some fun.”

“If I win, you blow me out here,” Baekhyun countered. Baekhyun had always favoured blowjobs.

“Deal.”

-

People around here, well, they certainly seemed to like cats. Some of the sculpted faces that hung on the walls were distantly feline, and then there was the fact that Sicheng had two literal tigers who rarely left his side and seemed to hate everyone else, but there was also the fact that there seemed to be a cat wandering the grounds. Mark wasn’t sure if the black cat actually belonged to anyone because it never seemed to return to anyone or any place, but not everyone seemed fond of it.

If anything, people seemed to avoid it, actually.

He’d noticed it their second day here when he’d finally found himself alone again in the afternoon, after his visit with Yukhei, and the following talk with Ten. He’d been . . . well, exhausted if he was being completely honest — his eyes had been a little red-rimmed and his head stuffy after crying into the elder’s shoulder for the better part of an hour as he’d explained everything that’d happened. More than that, though, how he’d felt. How it’d affected _him_.

Mark had spent so long being a crutch for others that he hadn’t even let himself think about the toll it’d had on his own self.

He’d ducked his head down when a few people walked past just enough to hide his face but he hadn’t missed the way they’d steered clear of a black cat which had been wandering along the path. When it’d meowed and rubbed against his calf he hadn’t thought anything of scratching behind its ears — it was just . . . nice, to have the company. Something that couldn’t judge him.

The dark-haired male had inadvertently made it a habit of sneaking his nameless friend food from meal times and hiding away behind pillars to crouch down and feed him. The cat didn’t have a real name, but ‘Kitty’ seemed to be fitting for now, even if it was a little cliche.

The cat didn’t seem to mind anyway if the way it kept coming back and preening under the attention meant anything.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” A quiet, sharp voice came from behind him, making him pause in his step, shoulders hunched from where he’d been slipping out a side door with a small bowl of meat in his hands. Shit. Mark swallowed thickly before turning a little so that he could see who it was standing in the doorway. Dejun.

Dejun was a bit of a mystery. Well, they all were, really, this whole _place_ was, but Dejun was one of the hardest to get a read on. Taeyong insisted that he was actually rather kind but it was hard to see that when every time he looked at the man he looked like he was contemplating someone’s murder. It _was_ probably the eyebrows. Either way, he didn’t look very welcoming. Even now Mark felt like he was about to be scolded.

As if on cue, a small meow reached his ears and a dark shape slunk into view, golden eyes shining in the late afternoon light and focused intently on the bowl in his hands — cooked venison, because he was a picky little thing who refused to eat it raw.

“I was just, uh—“

Another demanding meow which had him flushing before he set the bowl down so the cat could eat, hand rubbing nervously over the back of his neck. When Mark looked back over something incredibly odd happen. Dejun blinked once, then twice, and then his lips curled into a wide smile as near-hysteric laughter bubbled up from his throat. “You’re terrible,” he managed in-between laughter, eyes focused on the cat, “fooling poor Mark into bringing you food. I bet he doesn’t even know.”

“Know what?” Dejun just smiled and wiped away the moisture beading in the corners of his eyes. 

“Nothing,” he chuckled. The cat, somehow, looked smug as it licked its chops, fluffy tail swishing lazily in the air behind it. “Be careful around this one, Mark. He’s not as harmless as he looks.” Dejun spared the cat one last glance before turning on his heel to head back inside and peering back over his shoulder with a more subdued expression. “Are you coming?” Mark just blinked. “You’re a knight, right? YangYang and Kunhang have been dying to ask you questions, and there’s a few things I want to know, too.”

“I— sure. Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _Sicheng finally turned to face him, expression carefully measured as though he was searching his features for something before he blinked and the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. How could he appear so nonchalant over this? “No. I was born with my magic, Ten, but I’m stronger because of what I’ve done. Just not strong enough, yet.”_
> 
> _Something in Ten’s chest ached. “Will it ever be enough?”_
> 
> _Sicheng didn’t have an answer for him, just turned back to his plants, even when his very touch seemed to be doing more worse than good._


	13. chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger starts to close in and more is revealed about their mysterious hosts; meanwhile, Lucas _tries_ to keep moving forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? two updates in one week? I honestly don't know why I had so much motivation to write but I tried to make the most of it! Hope you enjoy this chapter, it was fun to write! Let me know what you think :)
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- moderate blood and violence, nothing new  
> \- derogatory language

The large, wooden doors were thrown open with a bang, and before Ten could even manage to summon his magic three bodies were thrown forth onto the marble floors, followed by a band of men who looked downright furious. The two large felines (Dao and Ping respectively, whom Ten had miraculously managed to befriend over the past two weeks) to his side snarled and surged forward with raised hackles and bared teeth as they awaited commands from their master. Sicheng rose from his seat.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Scouts, My Lord,” Kunhang was the one to speak up with a stormy expression, dark hair sticking to his forehead in places where the sweat had caused strands to cling. “We found them by the western border. Lady Liu’s people.” Dejun and YangYang were by his side as always, though today, like many days that’d now passed, it was Yuta who stood by their side — who’d insisted on helping them patrol. He was no Lieshou, yet _somehow_ he’d managed to gain some semblance of trust within the group, enough that the trio allowed him to join them even though that fourth spot was, in theory, for Kun.

Kun held the title of one of the fiercest warriors here, yet Ten had never seen him so much as raise a sword, and the stiffness in his walk was telling of unseen injuries. He seemed to serve as an advisor these days.

“Scouts,” Sicheng repeated, something unpleasant dripping into his tone as he descended the two steps before him, passing Ten in the process. “Was anyone harmed?”

“No one,” Dejun replied.

“And what are Lady Liu’s scouts doing in my territory?” There silence for a few long moments, and then a wet, pained laugh that rose from one of the figures that’d been forced to kneel before them.

“Doesn’t The Matriarch know all?” Ten watched as Yuta’s foot bore down a little harder on the man’s shoulders, pressing his bloodied cheek down even further into the marble and smearing crimson across the smooth stone. “Our lady isn’t very pleased with you after the stunt you pulled. We grow stronger by the day whilst you look down on us like dogs — did you really think there wouldn’t be retribution for your actions, _whore?_ All of the factions agree that your time is numbered.”

Ten noted the way that Sicheng’s shoulder tensed minutely before he chuckled; it was a barely audible noise, more breathy than anything, a small huff before he smiled in a way that held no warmth. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another five degrees as shadows swirled at his feet.

Yuta half growled as he pressed the man down even further into the floor and bent down with bared teeth that almost matched the tigers. “ _Watch your mouth_.”

“I did nothing,” Sicheng responded in a tone so even that Ten couldn't help but be impressed, “it’s not my fault he forgot his place and tried to weasel his way into my bed — I only regret not making him suffer longer.” Admittedly, the warlock had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but during their time here he couldn’t deny that he’d definitely been gotten closer to the other. Sicheng was reserved, definitely dangerous, but Ten understood that he wasn’t . . . he wasn’t _bad_. He was simply fiercely protective of his own. Ten almost dared to call them friends. 

“You’re an _abomination_.”

Despite Sicheng’s cool front, those shadows flared a little, whipping about in their range like carefully leashed hounds, desperate to get at their enemies. “Probably,” was all the man spoke before turning his hands to dismiss his men. “Take them back to the border and let them all loose. They can tell their mistress whatever they desire.” Ten had to bite his tongue to stop himself from arguing but he felt like he wasn’t the only one, not when Yuta looked positively murderous, his jaw painfully tight as he yanked the man up off the ground to drag him out with the others.

“You’re not going to punish them?” Ten murmured quietly as Sicheng turned back to him and stroked finger’s between Dao’s ears in a way he’d learnt was an effort to calm himself. 

“They haven’t harmed anyone. No blood has been shed,” the other breathed in explanation. “So, no. It’s nothing but more empty threats, like usual.”

Ten didn’t see any of it — he wasn’t facing the right way, but he did see Sicheng’s eyes widen as he all of a sudden whirled around on his heel and he did hear the faint whirring in the air. More than that, he _felt_ the surge of power that filled through every inch of the room like a cloying wave that made his head hurt. He at least managed to shift his head enough to see the dagger hovering in the air perhaps a foot from Sicheng’s heart and the way Yuta’s free hadn’t was outstretched. Stopping it. So _this_ was what his magic felt like, then.

Sicheng’s eyes turned into dark pools before shadows whipped through the air to send that dagger right back at the man who’d thrown it, the one who’d spoken, lodging itself firmly into his heart with a wet _thud_ that made him flinch. “You should’ve walked out,” he spoke as his fingers twisted slowly and the blade mirrored the action, making the man’s body jolt; he slumped to the ground within moments sporting a horror-filled, lifeless expression. Two striped tails flicked with interest as they licked their chops. “Set the other two free, unless they’d like to join their companion.”

They stayed silent.

YangYang and Kunhang hoisted up the men they’d dragged in and started leading them out of the hall yet, Dejun in tow, yet when Yuta turned to leave as well Sicheng held up his hand to signal for him to stay. Ten felt like he couldn’t be blamed for his surprise — especially since Yuta looked equally as perplexed — given the fact that Sicheng had always been especially prickly when it came to the dark-haired fae.

“I could’ve defended myself.” Rather than ducking his head down in apology or trying to explain himself with stammering words Yuta just smiled from ear to ear, seemingly not phased in the slightest by the body near his feet in an ever-growing puddle of blood.

“I know,” he stated plainly; no explanation came other than that. Two words, yet it seemed to trouble Sicheng with the way his gaze darkened before he dismissed the fae.

“Come,” Sicheng murmured once they were alone again, his eyes finally shifting back to Ten even if the tension in his shoulders was still rather prevalent as he stepped around the body and trailed fingers over his tigers’ muzzles. “We can continue talking somewhere else while they clean up.” _They_ meant the tigers, apparently, because as they walked out into Sicheng’s garden the sounds of wet ripping and the crack of bones filled the air. Ah.

Sicheng was terrifying in his own regard, but he was also admirable, in his own way — Ten couldn’t deny that it was inspiring in a way to see someone confident in their abilities and their ideals. Perhaps those ideals differed from his own but Ten _knew_ he was lucky to have the life he did and that others didn’t share the same luxuries. He knew little of this place in the grand scheme of things, yet even the little he knew was enough to broaden his understanding of what they had to do to survive.

The garden was exactly that — a garden, hidden away in the centre of the house as though it was the heart that pumped blood throughout the halls and kept this place alive. The house rouse up on each side and seemed to tower on forever, yet somehow it didn’t make him feel like the world was falling in around them. Rather than being threatening, it was oddly comforting. Light shone down from the glass ceiling that rested at the very top of the building and allowed an unobstructed view of the sky above, a sky that, today, was painted with whips of clouds that were barely tangible.

There didn’t seem to be a consistent theme within the garden yet at the same time it wasn’t overly spectacular, either; there was an obvious effort put into keeping the plants alive and flourishing yet there was browning where you looked close and curling leaves that were darkened in spots, petals which seemed near-always wilted to some degree and lacking the vibrant hues you’d expect. Despite this, Sicheng seemed to favour the spot.

He wouldn’t say Sicheng completely trusted him — hell, there was a chance he didn’t at all and this was all an elaborate ruse — but Ten felt that there had to be an element of understanding between them for him to be allowed in here.

“The blade would’ve hit you,” Ten spoke up quietly after a while, looking up from where he’d been sitting on one of the smoother stones and watching as Sicheng carefully pruned away the browning leaves on one of the shrubs. “Yuta was faster than any of us — if he hadn’t been there . . .”

“I would’ve been fine.” Sicheng replied without even looking at him. _Snip_. “It will take more than a mortal blade to kill me.” The warlock couldn’t help the way his features pinched a little at the phrasing and he sighed, wondering just how far he dared to push today.

“We’re only human, Sicheng, no matter the magic we have,” he spoke carefully, “except for Taemin,of course. And the others.”

“Perhaps,” the dark-haired male hummed as he finally moved on to the next plant. “But I’ve made far too many bargains to die so easily; I’m not sure I would die even if they pierced my heart.”

There had always been rumours, of course — of mages, warlocks, even, who’d grown so desperate in their quests for power and greed that they’d turned to even darker arts, the sort that cost not only magic but part of your soul; of those who became so twisted by the unnatural magic they held that they could barely be considered human. Monsters.

Looking at Sicheng, that wasn’t what Ten saw. Not _yet_

Ten’s eyes widened as the air in his lungs seemed to be sucked out of him, a realisation slowly settling into his mind as the words repeated. Since they’d arrived there’d been an unspoken question of _how_ Sicheng had any power, let alone something so potent and dangerous, but there was the answer, wasn’t it?

“You’re making deals with demons,” he exhaled, “like your ancestors. That’s how you got your magic.”

Sicheng finally turned to face him, expression carefully measured as though he was searching his features for something before he blinked and the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. How could he appear so nonchalant over this? “No. I was born with my magic, Ten, but I’m stronger because of what I’ve done. Just not strong enough, yet.”

Something in Ten’s chest ached. “Will it ever be enough?”

Sicheng didn’t have an answer for him, he just turned back to his plants, even when his very touch seemed to be doing more worse than good.

-

It had been a somewhat peaceful day, really, considering the fact that Taeyong seen them dragging unfamiliar men out of the main hall only a few hours ago. He hadn’t been given much of an explanation other than they were rival scouts but he knew from the look on Yuta’s face that he’d tell him the rest later. Taeyong wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the way that Yuta fit in so well here, yet. It was . . .. something.

It hadn’t been easy over the past two weeks but none of them would say otherwise — they’d known that it’d be hard even once they managed to get Lucas back here and somewhat stable yet the effects of what he’d endured were something they certainly couldn’t ignore. As hard as it was to see him put back into a glorified cell each night Taeyong knew it was Lucas’s own choice. No matter how much they trusted him, he didn’t trust himself. It had been hard enough to get him to start leaving the safety net of that room in the first place and none of them wanted to risk him regressing in that regard.

So, there was always someone with Lucas, usually someone somewhat capable of subduing him. His request, not theirs. He only dared venture out into the courtyard or house grounds properly when he knew there wouldn’t be as many people around and even then he often stuck only to those by his side. 

Today was no exception to that rule, save for the fact that Lucas was actually standing out there with a wooden sword and lightly sparring with Kun; it was less sparring more playing, in the way there was no weight behind the blows whatsoever and everything was slow, leisurely. It was still the first time that he’d seen Kun lay his hands on any sort of weapon, even a faux one, but despite that, there was a grace to his movements even with that slight limp, a skill behind every single move which spoke of a highly skilled warrior. The man remained somewhat of a mystery no matter how much he seemed to share.

The pair seemed to be talking as they moved around each other and everything was so relaxed that Taeyong couldn’t help but smile to himself where he was leaning back against one of the bordering pines with Jongin all but asleep at his side and Taemin laying with his head in his lap, hair silky under his fingers. It was a warm day, but not the kind of warm which stuck to your skin and made any sort of contact feel cloying and too much, rather the sort that soaked into your bones and felt of happiness, of comfort. 

Things felt _good_.

And then he felt a tingling at the base of his neck as the soft, downy hairs there stood on end.

He felt it (the energy rising in the air) before he saw it (the way Lucas’s face shifted to something frustrated and angry). Taeyong seemed to have picked up on it before Taemin, somehow, because he was shifting the other’s head out of his lap before the elder even seemed to register something was wrong and scrambling to his feet. It all happened so quick that before he was even up there were dark wisps of magic curling around Lucas’s feet, his eyes starting to fade to an opaque, milky screen which they’d been doing so well at subduing lately.

“Yukhei,” he called in the least-panicked voice he could manage, pushing forth waves of his own magic to try and soothe the other male; it seemed to work for all of two seconds before Lucas threw the first blow. Kun stumbled under the weight of the blow but managed to divert it off his wooden blade and duck off to the side.

The courtyard was mostly empty save for the fact YangYang had wandered over only a minute prior and instantly rushed forward with a worried expression. Lucas’s gaze managed to shift towards the younger male with a faint sneer for just a moment before the wooden sword in Kun’s hands clacked against stone and drew his attention back. “Don’t look at him, Yukhei,” the pale-haired male demanded, his voice still holding a softness, somehow. “It’s me you want.”

“Fight me, then,” Lucas demanded as he swung that sword again with inhuman speed and just narrowly missed Kun who leapt out of the way. The action had left an open spot that even Taeyong could see yet despite the fact they were only wooden swords Kun didn’t strike. “Fight back, you coward.”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

Lucas all but roared, lashing out again and again as Jongin roused quickly from his sleep and vowed to go and find Sicheng and the others, Taemin watching carefully, and Taeyong, gods, he didn’t know _what_ to do. He couldn’t draw away the energy like Sicheng could and he had no idea what had set him off. He didn’t want to hurt him.

More than that, though, he didn’t want Lucas to hurt anyone.

The butt of the sword caught Kun in the jaw and he spat out a mouthful of blood and phlegm but he still didn’t raise a hand against Lucas — just evaded his attacks as best he could. “You chose them over me,” Lucas hissed as he swung the dummy sword again. His voice wasn’t cold and devoid of emotion. It was heated, desperate, and more than anything he sounded _pained_ , agonised, even, like he’d been betrayed. “We were supposed to leave together, remember, gege? Instead, you threw me out on the streets like some mongrel.”

This was getting out of control and Sicheng still wasn’t here, with each second that passed Lucas seemed to get angrier and angrier, that malevolent energy gathering around him like a parasite leeching off his rage and pain. “I’m sorry, Yukhei,” Kun rasped painfully as he staggered and dropped the wooden sword down onto the stone underfoot. “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I didn’t know you’d think we didn’t want you.”

“ _Lies_ ,” Lucas gritted. 

“We never wanted to get rid of you, Yukhei — we’re brothers, remember? Forever and always. We swore it, together, that we’d never raise a blade against each other. Don’t you remember?” Kun persisted as he stepped forward, defenceless. Taeyong paled and his heart rose to his throat as he started forward, too, knowing even now he was going to be too slow to stop it. “I won’t fight you.”

He was only a few feet away when the wooden blade was thrust forward with such force that it managed to slide into Kun’s abdomen, ripping through flesh and making him jolt as Lucas stared with an even expression that was betrayed only by the tear trailing down his cheek. Numerous voices cried out and one of them was probably his own. “You were always too soft,” Lucas mumbled as he drew the wood free and twirled it in his fingers as Kun slumped with a pained grunt.

“ _Gege!_ ” A headful of chestnut hair accompanied the frenzied voice as YangYang surged forward without any regard for his own safety. Lucas’s pale eyes turned to him, next, and Taeyong didn’t have time to consider his actions before his body sprung into action and launched closer to tackle Lucas down to the ground. 

Lucas was taller, and more muscular, and stronger in every regard, save for this; magic. For the first time since his body had changed Taeyong found himself with a use for all that residual energy he’d been struggling to control in his new form. That strength was enough to send them skidding across the stone ground, Lucas snarling and trying to fight back even as Taeyong’s energy seeped into the air around them and fought to keep him pinned, battling dark tendrils which were icy to touch. 

Instinct had never really led him astray before, so Taeyong didn’t question it when he found himself lowering his face down to shut up the curses and threats with an open kiss. The word kiss was . . . open for interpretation. It was a less of a kiss and more of an open-mouthed exchange where he found himself drawing a small portion of that malevolent magic down into his own body in an attempt to clear Lucas’s mind, an icy, desolate sensation sweeping throughout him as he shook and tried to stay strong.

Taeyong wasn’t sure how long passed before he was faltering and strong hands were pulling him back off of Lucas who was now laying there with a dazed expression and struggling to push himself up. His own vision swum a little as Taemin — because he knew their touch well enough — got him a few feet away; his ears were ringing but he could distinctly hear lots of muffled yelling and see people rushing forward. The Lieshou. His lovers. Sicheng, who looked frantic for the first time as he stemmed the flow of the wound in Kun’s abdomen with his hands. From the placement, it wasn’t a fatal wound by any means as long as they patched him up.

“Gege,” Lucas all but sobbed as he half crawled closer, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—“

“Shh,” Kun soothed even though he was pale and clammy and reached out to smooth a hand over his cheek, smearing tears. “I knew you were going to stab me, Yukhei, it’s okay — you needed to get it out of your system.” Had he really risked his own life just to try and ease his conscience? The guilt in his features was so evident even now so perhaps . . . perhaps it’d been just as therapeutic for Kun, too. “I’m the one who failed you. Who you were after.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yukhei insisted as he got closer and helped stem the bleeding with trembling hands. “I never blamed you, I know you did all you could.”

“Maybe, but part of you felt betrayed by me. I never wanted that to happen.” Kun smiled and pressed their forehead’s together, patting Lucas’s hair like he was a young child. “I’ll be fine, Yukhei. If you wanted me dead I would be already.”

Maybe Lucas had never been planning to kill them after all. Maybe, despite everything, he’d simply been searching for closure after all these years. Taeyong let out a shaky breath and melted back into the firm body behind him, trying to offer a reassuring smile when he saw the worry on Ten’s face as he shivered and tried to ignore the way his stomach wanted to heave. 

He was so _cold_. 

-

“I could wring his neck for being so stupid,” Ten hissed under his breath from the other side of the bed, knuckles pale as they watched over Taeyong as he slept, body shaking ever so often and lips pale despite the sheen of sweat on his temple. “What was he thinking?”

“Actually,” a voice countered suddenly as a figure — Sicheng, Baekhyun realised — stepped into the room and move over to his bedside, “what he did was incredibly smart. His body can’t contain the sort of magic that we harness and if he’d tried to absorb it then it certainly would’ve killed him.” 

Baekhyun’s chest tightened at the mere thought. How did that make it smart, though, if it could’ve killed him?

“He’ll be fine,” the man reassured them as he smoothed back Taeyong’s fringe and checked his pulse. “It’s my understanding he’s not sure of his own limits yet, but he’s smart. I understand what Yukhei sees in him.” It almost sounded like . . . praise. “He drew just enough energy out of Yukhei to clear his mind and help him fight it and contained it within his body without trying to merge it with his own magic; instead, it’s like he’s filtering it through his magic and releasing it again.” Sicheng sounded almost awed.

As if on cue another one of those faint, barely visible whispers of darkness left Taeyong’s parted lips as he exhaled and evaporated into the air; the first time he’d seen it, Baekhyun had almost pissed himself.“How did he know it would work?” He found himself asking.

“Intuition,” Taemin answered softly, squeezing his shoulder. “Is there any way we can make it easier?”

Sicheng pursed his lips and looked over them for a few moments before shaking his head, yet rather than pulling away from the bed he pulled off one of his gloves and reached out to hover his fingers just over Taeyong’s mouth. A second passed, then two, and then a steady little stream of malevolent energy started to rise up out of his mouth and curl around Sicheng’s fingers like a satisfied serpent returning to its master. The whole exchange only lasted perhaps a minute before the tendrils were disappearing back into Sicheng’s skin.

“It’s not all of it, but it’ll be enough to ease the way. He should wake up within a few hours,” the dark-haired male promised them as he slid his glove back on. He was graceful even as he stood to leave the room.

“Thank you.” Sicheng seemed to stiffen at the words and froze in his step. Baekhyun watched curiously as he turned just enough to glance over at Yuta who was watching him with a warm expression he couldn’t quite place, though it was certainly filled with relief now that they knew Taeyong would be okay. Sicheng didn’t smile in return, but his expression did seem to soften in a way that was so faint Baekhyun was sure he’d imagined it.

“We’re even, then.”

“What was all that about?” Mark asked with obvious confusion the moment the door was closed and Ten just sighed, scratching at his scalp and making the younger male melt a little by his side where they sat. Yuta grinned and winked in a way that suggested he was far too pleased with himself. 

“I guess he’s not so bad,” Baekhyun finally relented in a grumble and focused on dabbing at Taeyong’s forehead with a clean cloth instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _It was a stalemate: Dejun, bleeding out on the ground and with his face a bloody mess of raw skin, Sicheng with his blade drawn to Taeyong’s throat, and Taemin ready to rip him apart the moment he moved to harm the fae._
> 
> _Everyone held their breath._
> 
> _“Sicheng,” Ten started warily, eyes wide and hands bloody as he tried to stem the bleeding. “What are you doing?”_


	14. chapter fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes in Weishen and Taeyong finds his hands stained with blood once again. It strikes conversation, where Mark learns the truth about Sicheng, and more about another one of the mysterious personalities there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's been a while, sorry, but I was finishing off my semester and really had to buckle down for group projects (ew) towards the end. That being said I should be a lot more active over my break :) I hope you're all doing well and staying safe.
> 
> There's, uh, a lot in this chapter. We finally learn more about Sicheng, so I'll update tags that hopefully won't be too much of a spoiler. I was a little nervous when I first started planning the sequel if just because I knew exactly what I wanted to do and I wasn't sure how people would react! I'm going to leave some notes at the end, more than usual, to expand on everything.
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- nothing new but moderate gore/description of wounds and blood  
> \- mentions of defamatory language/discrimination

Taemin had long since ceased to bother hiding the fondness in his eyes as he watched the others play around like children along the main path. It’d been Baekhyun who’d suggested that all of them getting out of the house for a few hours might be a good idea, especially since Lucas had been far less willing to socialise after the incident the other day, even if he was at no fault. Kun had been proving a point, and he’d been right. Lucas didn’t actually want his family _dead_.

It felt like . . . well, like _before_ , in those few peaceful weeks they’d had before everything had gone to shit, or their time on the road, though it was hard to count that when Taeyong hadn’t been amongst them. There was a calm stillness in the air that was broken only by laughter and teasing as Jongin scooped Mark up into his grip from behind and spun him around, Baekhyun and Taeyong quickly catching up from the chase and joining the pile which had them all toppling down into the soft grass in a mismatched collections of limbs and smiles. Ten rolled his eyes before plucking an arm up and joining the mess.

It was almost laughable to think that he’d once thought himself incapable of this. Of love. Perhaps it wasn’t what humans felt, he’d never really know that truth, but Taemin knew it was the strongest emotion _he’d_ ever felt, trumping even the rage and fear which had once inhabited every inch of his body. This warmth in his chest was not a raging wildfire, unable to be contained and destroying everything in its path, but it burned just as bright, if not brighter. It was probably the purest thing he’d ever felt in his existence. 

Lucas sat at his side with his head pillowed on his shoulder, honeyed hair sticking up a little in a way that was far too endearing, his expression serene as he stared out at the others. Taemin idly curled their fingers closer and leant his head down to nuzzle down against the soft strands, breathing in the faint scent of pine and soap as he let his own eyes flutter closed. Some days Lucas was still terrified at the prospect of his hands touching anyone, but today was a good day. Today he could revel in the warmth of skin against his own palm. 

“Are you sniffing me?” Lucas chuckled with a breathy exhale, the noise vibrating in his chest. Taemin just smiled into his hair and purposefully inhaled. 

“Maybe. You smell nice.”

“Creep.” Taemin’s cheeks ached a little as his lips curled even wider and he laughed, shifting his torso so that he was angled more towards Lucas and could tilt his chin up with his free hand. Despite his words, Lucas _smiling_ , albeit a rather small one, his eyes clear and bright as he leant into his touch. “I didn’t say stop,” he mumbled quietly once Taemin readjusted and all the older male could do was shake his head in amusement before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Thank you.”

That made Taemin pause. “For what?” He asked with a confused blink.

“For . . .” Lucas trailed off and pulled his hand away to make a vague gesture that didn’t make any sort of sense, “everything. I don’t think I could’ve . . . you know. You always know just what to say or do to make me feel better about it.”

Taemin’s expression softened. Long fingers reached out to graze over Lucas’s cheek before he dropped another kiss onto his cheek, this time, lingering for a few long moments. There were a lot of things in his life that’d been lost to time or simply to his own mind, others that would likely never be told simply due to the fact there was so much, but he’d tried to do what he could to help Lucas come to terms with not just what’d happened, but with himself. He’d told him things he’d once avoided for fear of what someone like Lucas would think. It pained him that there was such understanding between them these days, but it was a relief that at least he could offer some sort of solace. 

“You’ve always been and will always be a pure soul, Lucas,” he’d reassured a few nights prior after the incident with Kun. “The past is done; what you do _now_ to right those wrongs is all that matters.” Taemin could never take back the things he’d done throughout his life, so many of them _willingly_ even if he’d been coerced by his father at points, but he wouldn’t waste what he had now dwelling on his guilt.

Taemin would never forget the countless faces of those he’d killed — the ones that actually mattered, who’s lives were worth something, the ones who’d died unnecessarily as a result of his actions or with his own hands in what he’d felt was right at the time. Perhaps his sense of right and wrong would never be as it should when his first instinct was often to fight or harm, but that was why he had them. They balance him out; made him softer. 

Lucas made a soft little sound and clutched at his shoulder to ever so tentatively draw him closer, stopping just shy and waiting with warm breath before Taemin closed that last inch of space between them and grazed their lips together. “No thank you’s,” he scolded rather softly after he pulled back, “not between us.”

The younger male seemed to want to argue at that but he didn’t get a chance to before the sound of footsteps crunching over the fine gravel of the dirt road reached Taemin’s ears and he stilled, head whipping around the tree trunk they’d been propped against. It was Kunhang who came into view first with a rather panicked expression, YangYang perhaps only a few feet behind him and brought up by Kun and Sicheng. Before anyone could even get a word out he heard the approaching horse.

Taemin had been up within a split second and putting himself between the approaching steed and Lucas as best he could — the others were out of his reach but he’d rather die than let any harm befall them. His magic rose up through his core like a wave, yet before it could crest he registered the body that was slumped over the horses’ dark flank, fallen in a way that suggested unconsciousness, and the wet sheen streaking down to drip into the dirt . . . _blood_.

“ _Dejun_!” Varied voices shouted as the horse startled. Jongin, who’d been closest to the creature, darted over to gather its reigns into his palms and steady it: Taemin saw the way he paled once he caught sight of the body. He felt Lucas rise behind him, that fear tangible. Numerous hands reached out to ease the figure down from the back of the horse and lay him on the ground, dark clothes soaked with what had to be blood, barely visible on the black material save for when the light hit it right, and the fact it was staining anyone who touched him. 

“Dejun,” Lucas repeated hoarsely and tried to step around him. Taemin knew he’d deal with the consequences later when he made the split-second decision to tug Lucas back and send him to sleep, the younger’s body slumping in his grip so he could lower him to the grass. Maybe Lucas would be angry, but he was doing what was best for him. For everyone, just in case. 

There was the scrape of metal against metal before he had time to think and Taemin was across the area before Sicheng’s hand had even stopped moving, his pupils dilating into thin slits as the air stilled around them. It was a stalemate: Dejun, bleeding out on the ground and with his face a bloody mess of raw skin, Sicheng with his blade drawn to Taeyong’s throat, and Taemin ready to rip him apart the moment he moved to harm the fae.

Everyone held their breath.

“Sicheng,” Ten started warily, eyes wide and hands bloody as he tried to stem the bleeding. “What are you doing?”

“Heal him,” the man demanded without looking at him, because his eyes were focused on Taeyong the entire time, his fingers shaking around the blade he’d grabbed from the sheath on Kun’s side. It took Taemin a moment to realise this wasn’t a threat born of malicious intent, but desperation. Anyone with eyes could see how badly Dejun had been mutilated. Taemin wasn’t sure he could be healed.

“Drop the blade,” Jongin all but growled with his own hand on the sword at his waist. Sicheng didn’t budge.

“ _Sicheng_.” Kun’s hand shifted to overlap Sicheng’s and ever so slowly lowered the blade down until it faced the ground before he took it back. He was trembling like a leaf with pale skin and a look of genuine fear as he took in the scene. He looked so human. “We need to hurry and get him inside. We’ll _all_ do what we can.” Kun glanced at him over the other’s head, of all people, expression almost pleading as it turned from him to Lucas’s sleeping form, then back to him. 

Whilst Sicheng was distracted, Taemin reached out to tap fingers to the side of his neck gently before he could fight back and let Kun catch him as he fell.

“Jongin, help them carry him,” Taemin instructed softly as he stepped back over to hoist Lucas’s prone body into his arms, lips pressed into a thin line. Then, he turned to Taeyong, who was staring at all the blood with obvious terror. “If you can’t save him, no one can,” he reassured faintly. “Just do what you can.”

There was no time to explain what was happening as they rushed inside yet they all seemed to naturally work around each other, like long-standing parts in a well-oiled machine; Lucas and Sicheng were carefully laid off to the side so that they could get Dejun’s body up onto the medics table, and whilst the healers seemed to want to argue and step forward Kun’s reassurance had them taking a step back to simply assist Taeyong with what he needed. It was hard to reconcile the image of the Taeyong he’d first met, mouse-like and frail, with the strong man before him, the one who was pushing past his own traumas to try and save the life of a man they’d only known for a few weeks.

“We need to stem the bleeding first,” he declared as YangYang cut Dejun’s shirt down with his blade, letting it hang off his shoulders onto the table and revealing a mess of bloodied skin and open wounds. From what he’d gathered Dejun had been sent out to gather information from the nearest town about gathering tensions and he’d only left late yesterday afternoon — it was perhaps two hours before sunset, which meant he’d been held for . . . well, it was possible that this had been inflicted on him over nearly a whole day. 

Taemin was familiar with torture, and that’s _exactly_ what this was. Their goal hadn’t been to kill Dejun, just torture him and send a message, but if he died in the process then it was no skin off their backs — except for the fact it probably would be. Taemin had a feeling a lot more blood would be shed over this. 

Dejun’s torso was scattered with varying wounds, from what seemed like bruised skin that was interrupted with strips of burns and long, winding grooves where a blade had dug through his flesh, not overly deep in a way which would eventually numb but shallow enough to make him bleed and ache. Whoever had done this had known exactly what they were doing. Some of the wounds had been roughly cauterised, not to try and minimise damage but for the sole purpose of causing pain. Those would likely scar. His fingers were bloody and torn where his fingernails had been ripped from his flesh, worn skin and bruising at his wrists where he’d been strung up, his shoulder at an odd angle where it’d been dislocated.

The worst was his face, though, or more specifically his _eyes_ , or . . . what had been. Idly he heard Mark stumble out the door and heave in the hallway.

There was no need to even hold Dejun down as Taeyong got to work, not when the man seemed to be fading in and out of life itself, his breathing so slow it was barely discernible at times and seemed to cut out altogether every now and then. Taeyong was covered in blood as he worked to stop the flow of blood as best he could so he wouldn’t bleed out, voice sharp as he prompted for a blade or more rags or ointment. Magic was a powerful thing but it had to be used _right_. It was a fine balance — pack the wounds and heal him and his skin would try to heal around them, and if there was any foreign matter it’d be trapped inside, only causing more complications. Taeyong may have been a fae now, but he’d _always_ been a healer, and watching him work like this was oddly more magical than any grand feats they could manage. 

With just his hands, he could save a man, or end him.

Once they were sure that he wouldn’t die from the blood (or at least not lose even more) he watched as Taeyong climbed up on the table despite the protests of the other healers and shuffled so he could sit cross-legged with Dejun’s head pillowed gently in his lap, his free hand dabbing at the blood still slowly leaking down his cheek. “Taeyong,” he spoke softly yet the other heard him regardless, warm eyes flickering up to where Taemin had set his hand over his chest, over the mark resting underneath his shirt. The younger male regarded him for a few long seconds before nodding and closing his eyes.

Taemin had never shared his magic with anyone like this. He could feel the way Taeyong reached out and grasped those threads between them, the ones that’d woven back into place ever since he’d returned, a gentle coaxing that had his magic flowing down their bond and filling his body. Taeyong was no demon, but the magic that flowed through his own veins was just a bastardised, twisted version of what Taeyong bore — of _course_ he could harness it without harming himself. 

It only took a few seconds for a pale light to start emanating in Taeyong’s palms, soft tendrils of pure magic dancing out like smoke and wrapping around Dejun, almost like they were caressing him. Taemin could feel the warmth, like . . . like the embrace of a loved one, the fingers of a parent carding through your hair, the smile of a child. 

“Take the others out,” he murmured to Jongin, squeezing his hand gently before he let go. “Ten and I will stay with him.” Their talent didn’t lay in healing but they could offer a steady stream of energy so that Taeyong didn’t burn himself out.

“We’re not leaving him,” one of them — Kunhang, he realised, standing firm with red eyes and wet cheeks — insisted angrily. Taemin stared the boy down for a moment before he sighed and let his features soften.

“You can’t do anything to help him right now,” he pointed out, blunt but far from harsh. “I know it’s hard, but you need to let him do his job; I swear to you the moment he’s done I’ll personally bring you back in.” Taemin didn’t make a habit of promising things. Maybe they knew the weight of those words and what they meant or maybe they didn’t, but the way Kun wrapped an arm around each of the younger boys seemed to soothe them, make them give barely noticeable odds. 

“Please save him,” YangYang pleaded quietly. Perhaps Taemin had just been alive too long but they looked too young for all this horror — all of these humans were. Taemin was no martyr yet a very small part of him wished he could take away the pain.

“We’ll try.” 

-

It wasn’t that Mark was squeamish around blood and brutality — he’d grown up with it — but rather that seeing someone you _knew_ , someone you cared about and had an emotional attachment to in any regard, bleeding out and mutilated would likely be hard for anyone to see. That being said, he _had_ always had a weak stomach. 

He’d still be a little embarrassed later about having to leave the room to throw his guts up over the grass outside. It was a while before Mark could even stand up without his head spinning and that queasy feeling bubbling back up inside of him, but eventually he found himself sitting back against the cool stone wall behind him with closed eyes and focusing on breathing slowly. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see the gruesome sight of whatever had been done to Dejun, but today those images didn’t just leave when he opened them again. It was a losing battle with his mind. 

The dark-haired male wasn’t quite sure how long had actually passed when he heard footsteps and quiet sniffles that signified company. At least they all looked like shit, right? YangYang and Kunhang looked utterly desperate but Kun, who was often far more controlled, looked almost as desolate, a pain in his eyes that Mark knew far too well — Mark _knew_ what it was like to think you were losing someone, or to think you’d lost them. Mark shuffled over along the grass so that the trio could join him.

“Whatever you need,” he promised quietly after a few moments of silence with a thick conviction creeping into his voice, “we’ll help you. They won’t get away with this.”

“No, they won’t,” Kun agreed quietly. “They underestimate us, but they also fear us — they know we’re only getting stronger. I’m not worried that we won’t be able to get revenge.” The older male paused for a moment before turning those harrowed eyes his way. “I’m worried about the lengths Sicheng will go to.” Mark liked to think he was getting to know them all quite well and that they could be considered friends, but Sicheng was still the wildcard. The Lieshou were so unwavering loyal to him, as were his people, but he could see just how much they worried _for_ him, and he didn’t . . . he didn’t quite understand that.

“Do you know who did it?”

“Lady Liu’s people.”

“So . . . it’s because Sicheng killed one of their people?”

“Sicheng wasn’t in the wrong,” YangYang clarified softly from his side. “It’s . . .” he trailed off and seemed to look for Kun for permission. The elder glanced between them before letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s not as though it’s a secret — he’s bound to find out sooner or later. You trust them?” A nod. 

“Them?” Mark questioned.

“No offence, Mark, but we know it’s pointless to ask you to keep a secret from the others.” Mark flushed a little and ducked his head down but didn’t deny it — he wouldn’t lie to them, especially not about something important, not really. Not unless it was for their own sake. “It’s okay — I’m glad Yukhei has people like you.”

“The other factions haven’t taken us seriously since Sicheng took over,” YangYang began to explain eventually. “Our last Matriarch died a year or so after Yukhei left — she’d been sick for a long time so it wasn’t a surprise or anything, but it made things hard. A few of the ladies who’d served under her took over but they were . . . they were terrible. They always had been. Ever since we were young we’d dreamed of being able to change things one day and make this a better place, somewhere safe, but after how Yukhei was treated and how we lost him Sicheng became almost obsessed with the idea.

“We’re sworn brothers, all six of us, even Yukhei — that’s what this means,” he murmured as he tilted his head down and angled to give Mark a better look at the red crescent moon etched into the nape of his neck. “After Lucas left Sicheng started focusing on getting stronger and he created so many things you could never imagine, Mark; what we have is his _own_ creation. It binds _us_ to him. If he dies, so do we. We all swore to serve him the moment we realised what he was planning.”

“A revolution,” Kun breathed out when Mark cocked his head. “I want to make it clear, he’s never forced any of this upon us, Mark — we chose to be his Lieshou, to be his swords, because he is a good man and our brother. We’d follow him to the ends of the world because we believe in the world he wants to build.”

“And what is that?”

“Something peaceful.” Kun smiled ever so slightly. “We’ve never known peace, Mark — they trained us to be warriors to serve a regime we didn’t have a choice in, where all that matters is power, but only the kind they want.”

“So what happened?”

Kunhang chuckled breathily, his voice hoarse. “No one suspected anything. We were just children in their eyes, and no one important, just a few boys amongst their pupils. We had no magic to challenge them.”

“But Sicheng does.”

Kun pressed his lips together firmly. His expression grew a little more grim and hesitant. “Only women are born with magic here, Mark.”

“I know, that’s why I’m confused,” he explained, but no one gave him an answer. The trio just stared at him with varying expression, like they were waiting for the puzzle pieces to come together in his mind, and Mark was a little embarrassed by how long it took him to realise what was being implied. “But . . . but Sicheng is a man.” He was so utterly confused.

“You’re right, _he is_ ,” Kun confirmed, “but he wasn’t born as one. Do you understand?” A small nod. “Sicheng has been treated like dirt his entire life for the sole fact that he wasn’t what they wanted him to be, because he wasn’t a woman, because he preferred the company of those lesser than him, because he was born from no ones, because he didn’t practice magic the way they wanted. Everyone knows.”

“What does it matter, though? He’s strong, and he’s a good leader, right? He’s terrifying sometimes but I know how much you all trust him and how much everyone here adores him. Renjun and Chenle have nothing but good things to say about him.”

“To us? Nothing, but all these people listen to is power, Mark, and the only way Sicheng has been able to make them understand what we want is _more_ power. We didn’t _know_ he was making deals with demons at first to get stronger and by the time we found out he . . . he was maintaining it well. It didn’t seem like it was hurting him. I didn’t agree with it, but it was his choice, and all we could do was support him,” Kun admitted.

Kunhang sat up straighter on his other side and rubbed his hands over his face. “But he’s not anymore. The power takes a toll on him and he’s never satisfied, not to mention how dangerous it is in the first place — I’ve seen how fucking terrifying those things are and it’s not safe no matter how strong he is. People underestimate us, but they’re also scared of him, especially after what happened. It’s— we should’ve been there. Five months ago, at one of the faction meetings, one of Lady Liu’s . . . consorts . . . took an interest in Sicheng; people have always been so terrible to him, Mark, you have no idea the things they say about him, _to him_ , but he always takes it in stride, and he _did_ , but while we were securing the other rooms that night he slipped into Sicheng’s room.” Mark paled. “He barely set a finger on him, but it’s not the point — if Sicheng _hadn’t_ been capable of defending himself gods knows what would’ve happened, or if it’d been someone else, and so Sicheng . . .”

“He killed him,” Mark surmised slowly and got a nod in response.

“It was perfectly within his rights — he was in our territory and tried to harm our Matriarch. But they’ve never liked Sicheng and Lady Liu was _furious_. It’s just an excuse for her to try and take over our territory.”

“She hurt Dejun because she _knows_ what it’ll do to Sicheng,” Kun gritted out. “What it’ll do to _us_. There’s another meeting upcoming and she wants us to know that she’ll be coming for our heads.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about Lady Liu,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, the voice a steady purr which rolled over Mark’s ears like velvet as a man came into view, dressed in dark robes with silver jewellery and eyes rimmed with dark pigments that made him look even more mysterious. He could feel the way YangYang tensed beside him. “We’ll deal with her.”

“No, _we_ will,” Kun bit out with a dark look as he stood; he was much shorter than the tall stranger but it didn’t mean he wasn’t menacing in his own right. “You’ve done enough, _Huang Zitao_. I don’t know what you’ve been whispering into Sicheng’s ear when we’re not around but it’s not going to work — maybe Luhan was stupid enough to follow you back then, but we’re not, and neither is Sicheng.” The mysterious man’s — Zitao’s — eyes flared at the mention of the other name before he smiled, propping a hand of dark nails on his hip.

“It’s hard to understand when you haven’t opened yourself up to the old gods, but you will eventually, Kun — I’m here to _help_ , even if you don’t think I am.” Kun just scoffed and stood his ground even as Zitao’s eyes shifted and grazed over the three of them still on the ground, sharp eyes settling on him of all people. He was oddly familiar. “Mark,” he all but purred with a toothy grin. His canines almost looked sharper than they should. 

“Huh?”

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t recognise me?” Mark just furrowed his brows but the more he tried to think the more he came up blank.

“ _Meow_.” 

Mark’s eyes widened comically.

“That’s the cat you’ve been feeding,” Kunhang explained quietly as Zitao grinned and Mark turned bright red.

“I— _what_? Why wouldn’t you tell me? What do you mean he’s—“

“I have a lot of gifts,” was all Zitao offered. It sounded oddly suggestive. “Changing my form is just one of them. I’ll see you around, boys.”

Mark couldn’t really gather his thoughts until the other male had already walked off and left them alone again, but when he turned to face the others the mortification was almost worth it for the fact it seemed to have at least distracted them if the way Kunhang was weakly smiling was anything to go by. “You let Mark around him?” Kun sounded disappointed. Kunhang shrugged.

“I don’t really like him that much either, but he’s not that bad, Kun — Dejun trusts him. He’s the one who told me.” The eldest still didn’t look overly impressed but he didn’t scold him for it any more, just rubbed his temples.

“Who is he? _What_ is he?” Mark asked.

“Zitao was a student, just like us — he was always different, though. He’d wake up screaming nearly every night, and even though the superiors would beat him for it he never stopped, it’d just happen again and again. One day . . . what, probably a few months before Yukhei left, he and one of the other boys, Luhan, just disappeared — they’d always been close and we assumed they’d just run away together, except for the fact that Zitao returned years later when Sicheng had already been in charge for a while. Alone. I don’t know what he is,” the blond admitted reluctantly with a scowl. “He was human. He still is, I think, but he claims he found his true calling as a priest of the old gods — that he was born to serve them and that they give him the power that flows through his veins.”

“What happened to the other boy, though?”

“ _Zitao_ said that Luhan was killed on their journey.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you?”

“No.”

“Everyone’s got their own opinion on what happened,” YangYang chimed quietly. “Someone said he killed him, but Meilin said he probably sacrificed him to get the power he has, somehow. Either way, I don’t think anyone actually believes that he died accidentally. But Sicheng trusts him.”

“Sometimes Sicheng doesn’t know what’s best for him,” Kun mumbled. If the rumours were right then . . . well, Mark was inclined to agree. Gods, he couldn’t believe that the cat he’d been feeding . . . he didn’t like that he’d been deceived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _“Hey,” Dejun attempted to console as he sat up straighter and reached out. Taeyong could see the way he held back a wince. “We are brothers. Sicheng’s just . . .”_
> 
> _“Lost,” Taeyong murmured. Multiple sets of eyes shifted to him. “Don’t doubt how much he cares about you — all of you. I know it might be hard right now, like he’s shutting you out, but . . . he probably feels like he’s doing the best thing to keep you safe.” It hit too close to home._
> 
> So. Big reveal. A big disclaimer that I am not a transgender person and therefore I can't speak for the community or anything like that, I can only try to write my characters as authentically as possible based on conversations with transgender friends and my own research. This story obviously has rather dark elements and is a _fantasy_ which I always try to offer warnings for, but if I ever write anything that is out of line, please do let me know.  
> It's not overly relevant, but I do identify as queer - that being said, I'm a white-passing individual who's comfortable with a female body. I'm always exploring varying elements of gender, sexuality and expression in my work as that's something I'm very passionate about showcasing.   
> There have been hints here and there throughout the story so far, nothing too obvious, so it'll be interesting to see if anyone has noticed. I know some people might think the 'reveal' is 'anti-climatic', especially with the way Mark reacts, but to be honest I didn't want to make it a big deal in the story at all, I certainly don't want it to be a plot device. To be honest, it doesn't change much about the story whatsoever.  
> Some people get huffy over representation for representation sake, but I really do think it's important to portray all people without any ulterior motive; until representation is no longer something people yearn for and just our every day, I'll try to do what I can with my meagre fics.
> 
> I can't believe I have to say this _again_ , but my fics obviously do not reflect on reality in any way or the people which these characters are derived from. Fiction is just that: fiction. Even if my fics have some commentary on life, they're never going to be or have been commentary on the real personalities behind these characters. It's as simple as that.


	15. chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst preparations are made for a meeting Taeyong spends time with the juniors and learns more about the mysterious Zitao. Jongin struggles with the idea of any of his lovers putting themselves in danger for someone else's sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of soft bc I think we all need some of that rn lmao. The next chapter will be . . . interesting. We're starting to get close to the end and I'm so excited for you all to see what I have in store lmao. I promise not to be too cruel c:

The last time Taeyong had been presented with the idea of having to attend some sort of formal event he’d been terrified; well, both times he had been, actually. The first had been the ball Jongin had thrown what felt like a lifetime ago, the one where his life had changed irrevocably. The second had been during his time spent with the fae, where he’d been dressed in soft, flowing clothes and decorated to look like some sort of ethereal creature that he’d never really been able to reconcile with his view of himself. 

Now, though, they had to do it again.

They didn’t _have_ to, but he knew none of them were planning to sit this out, not since Kun had explained the significance of these bi-annual meetings between factions, and certainly not since what had happened to Dejun only two days ago. 

Taeyong wasn’t quite sure when he’d decided that these people were, by extension, his too — they were Lucas’s family, though, and perhaps it should’ve worried him that it was that simple to him, but it didn’t. How could you look at these people as say they deserved the perpetual terror and instability that hung over their heads? That they weren’t good, even if they had to do hard things to survive? This wasn’t just about Sicheng and his morals, not when they were all at stake, from the Lieshou he’d declared his friends to some of the younger subjects, such as Renjun and Chenle. He couldn’t just abandon them.

Besides, who was Taeyong to judge _anyone_ after the things he’d done?

The idea of walking into this meeting not knowing the extent of the danger they might be facing was a little terrifying, but he wouldn’t be alone — he’d have friends and family by his side. If he believed in nothing else, he believed in them.

Taeyong slowly traced his fingers over the material laid out on his sheets and looked over every little detail of the outfit. This wasn’t like the ball where he needed to look charming or the meeting with the fae elders where he’d needed to look the part; tomorrow he needed to look powerful. These people didn’t know them, after all, and that was one of their biggest advantages — it’d do well to make themselves look like a bigger threat than they were. 

He was so used to hiding who and what he was that the idea of flaunting it was hard to accept.

The pants were something he was used to seeing on Ten, material that stretched over the skin and clung to it like another layer in the form of a dark sheen, and the shirt, if it could be called that, was so sheer he knew it would hide nothing — at least there was the jacket, built of a sturdy, rich leather adorned with numerous fixtures including buckles and chains that seemed to serve no purpose other than aesthetics. If this was what Ten had chosen for _him_ then he couldn’t begin to imagine what everyone else would end up in. Taeyong was excited at the prospect, but nervous. 

Warm arms slid around his waist every so gently and lips pressed to his shoulder, felt even through the material of his shirt; Taeyong smiled and leant back against Lucas’s chest. “It’ll look good on you,” the other male mumbled with an obvious approval in his voice and made Taeyong chuckle before he turned around in his grip.

“All the more reason to come with us.” That seemed to make Lucas pause.

“Me? I don’t . . . I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Taeyong.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it unless I was sure you could control yourself,” Taeyong reassured quietly. He leant up onto his toes to pull Lucas into a kiss, lips ghosting over each other for a moment before pressing a bit firmer. “You’ve been doing so well, Lucas — everyone thinks so, and I think it’d be good, for you to be there. With us.” After a few moments, he forced himself to settle back down onto flat feet and ran his hand down Lucas’s jaw and throat to rest on his shoulder. “If you don’t feel up to it, that’s fine. Just think about it.”

Lucas hesitated for a moment before nodding and drawing another kiss out of him. “I’ll think about it,” he promised. “You do realise that everyone is going to be . . .”

“. . . looking absolutely breathtaking?” Taeyong supplied, making the other laugh.

“I was going to say hot. But yes. Is that part of the plan?”

“What, to distract the enemy with pretty faces?” The white-haired male teased as he batted his eyelashes and angled his jaw a little before dissolving into chuckles and pressing his forehead to Lucas’s chest. “Not the official plan, but Kun told us to dress up and apparently a nice coat isn’t going to cut it.”

“It won’t,” Lucas confirmed. “These meetings . . . I was never allowed to go, obviously, but I heard the stories, Yong — you might see things you don’t like. Not everyone is like Sicheng. Not everyone is _good_.”

“I grew up seeing the worst of humanity,” Taeyong sighed quietly, “I doubt it can get any worse.” Lucas didn’t look overly convinced but the taller male dropped the topic and instead focused on littering his face with soft, affectionate little grazes of his lips which had him grinning again.

Taeyong was moderately embarrassed that by the time he heard the awkward cough from the doorway he had Lucas caged against the dressing table and was kissing over his throat as the other laughed that it tickled. His cheeks flushed a little as he pulled back and turned around and— ah, Chenle. That made it worse.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the boy hummed without any real remorse and an amused little curl to his lips. “Should I have knocked?”

“Probably—“ Taeyong covered Lucas’s mouth with his hand and offered the younger boy a blinding, innocent smile as he shook his head. 

“Of course not. I was getting ready to come and find you all, anyway.” That earned him a wide smile even if Lucas was whining behind his hand; as much as Taeyong would’ve done anything to be able to stay locked away within these four walls and kiss Lucas for hours, he’d made a promise, and he wasn’t going to break it. Besides, how could he ignore those adorable little faces sneakily begging him to show them his magic despite Sicheng’s prior warnings? Taeyong turned so that he could face Lucas and withdraw his hand before pressing a rather chaste peck to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Lucas’s features softened into something resigned but undeniably fond and he nodded as he squeezed his waist and finally let go. “Later,” he agreed. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Taeyong couldn’t help the way he fluttered his eyelashes a little as he broke away. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about,” he feigned.

“Don’t try and act all innocent,” the taller laughed, “I know you too well. Just be careful.”

“Of course.”

Taeyong left the door open behind him if just because he doubted that Lucas was going to hover in his room for the rest of the day and quickly fell in step with Chenle; it took him a few moments to register that little curl to his lips and the way he kept glancing over at him like words were burning on the tip of his tongue. “What?”

“I just . . . don’t take it the wrong way or anything, I just never thought Yukhei would have someone like _you_ , or, you know, them,” the younger male spoke as they walked through the halls, headed somewhere that Taeyong was pretty oblivious to considering he was still very far from memorising the winding hallways of Weishen. “He was always so _awkward_ , and you’re all so cool.”

The fae couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. “You think we’re cool?” He managed through the noise, eyes curved and crinkling at the edges. “Trust me, they’re a lot cooler than me, Chenle — I’m still getting used to all of . . . _this_ ,” he tried to convey with a sweeping little gesture of his hands. “I’ve always been a bit awkward and, uh, plain?”

Chenle stopped when they reached a door and turned on his heel to meet his gaze, dark brows drawn together a little and his hair shifting as his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, expression a mix between confusion and realisation. “You don’t see yourself the way others do,” the younger hummed in a way that presented more as a statement than a question. Taeyong . . . well, he didn’t know what to think about that comment. Nor did he know what to feel.

He didn’t really have time to focus on it for very long before Chenle was shifting back to open the door and step inside. Taeyong followed.

The room they stepped into was very, very different to the one he’d been staying in, but most of that really came down to the amount of personality and life within. It was filled with personal touches, from the books piled on the corner of the desk and the coat hanging there to the pile of clothes in the corner, little trinkets hanging from the open windowsills. It felt so homely.

It was a single room, too, the size of his own but sporting only one bed. There was no doubt in his mind that this was definitely a permanent residence, and despite the fact a few of the boys were lounging around on the bed and floor, eagerly awaiting them, if Taeyong had to guess who’s room this was . . . Yangyang, maybe. Said boy was sitting up near the pillows where Dejun was ever so carefully propped, still a little bandaged but looking better with each passing hour. By his feet was Kunhang who was sitting on a pillow on the floor with his head leant back against the mattress and Renjun sprawled a few feet away with his feet hanging in the air and chin on his palms. 

“How are you feeling, Dejun?” He spoke up softly once he was inside, moving over to sit tentatively on the edge of the bed and looking him over; there were still faint red lines crisscrossing over his face where his injuries were still healing, no doubt lines that covered his whole body, and there was faint bruising on his fingers - the cloudiness to his eyes had cleared up plenty. Dejun’s gaze was focused, at least.

“Good,” the dark-haired male murmured as he offered a tired smile. “I can see a lot better today. I . . . thank you, Taeyong,” Dejun rasped, his eyes misting ever so slightly. Taeyong was quick to reach out and set a hand softly over one of his and making sure not to squeeze too hard.

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” he managed even though he was getting a little choked up himself. “You’re family now, Dejun, there’s nothing to thank me for.” Even as he spoke, Taeyong was sending mild waves of energy through their hands and watching as that pinkness faded even more — nothing too substantial, because he was still recovering after all of the energy he’d been expending lately, and because he wanted to be able to give them a show. Just something to help speed things up even more. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a single hair out of place when they went tomorrow. 

“Do you really think that?” It was Renjun who spoke up, his voice soft and eyes wide as he watched him.

“Of course. You’re Lucas’s family, so you’re all important to me, too,” he stated as though it was that simple. Really, it was. These were people who meant everything to Lucas, people who he knew wouldn’t cease to be part of their life even after this, and besides, Taeyong had grown fond of all of them in varying degrees, even Sicheng, he supposed.

Taemin would probably burst a lung if he heard that, after the fact that Sicheng had threatened his life.

If anything, Taeyong felt like he understood Sicheng even better after that experience. He’d _seen_ the desperation in his eyes; it’d been tangible. More than that, Taeyong could relate to it, perhaps more than anyone else, because he knew what it felt like to be willing to do absolutely anything for the people you loved, to think you were about to lose them. And Sicheng _did_ love them, he could tell that. Perhaps not in a romantic sense, a traditional sense, but Taeyong had come to understand with time that there were more kinds of love out there than even he could comprehend, that love wasn’t limited to one expression or feeling or person. Love was just . . . well, _love._

“Besides, you’re all so cute,” Taeyong cooed playfully as he reached down to squeeze Renjun’s cheeks and make him flush, probably embarrassed he was being treated like a kid. They were young, but really, when he thought about it they were only a few years younger than him at most. “Family look out for each other, right?”

“Right,” Kunhang murmured from the floor with a smile. “You really fit in here, you know?”

That warmed Taeyong’s heart — warmed his whole body, really, with that pleasant, comforting sort of buzz that pulled at his cheeks and made him want to grin. From anyone that’d be a wonderful compliment, but from Kunhang, from them . . . he knew how hard it was for them to accept strangers here and what it meant to them. To know that in a way they felt he belonged here; that he was accepted. “Thank you.”

Kunhang just shrugged even though he was smiling and gently shoved his knee. “Come on, we’ve been waiting all morning for your tricks and Yuta got us all excited about them.”

“Did he now?”

Yangyang grinned and shuffled forward a little on the bed with an eager smile. Taeyong spared a glance at all of them, and sure enough, each and every one of them was watching him with varying levels, all flattering, of enthusiasm as they sat around him on the blankets and floor. “Well, I’m not as good as Yuta,” he hummed, knowing they’d probably hassle Yuta for demonstrations eventually too. Payback. “But I can do a few things,” the fae chuckled as he let his magic settle into that steady thrum under his skin, rolling his neck before white wisps started to rise from his fingers, dancing around in pale flames before they separated and shifted up into the air. It was undeniably rewarding to see the way that they all lit up with that childish sort of innocence as it morphed into various white shapes that animatedly moved through the air, from a small horse with a flowing mane to the illusion of a ship on rough seas, then a bird that swooped down and morphed to a wolf that snapped just a few inches in front of Chenle’s face and made him start with a loud, uncontrolled giggle of surprise and awe. 

“Ge!” Taeyong laughed and pulled the flames back, knowing they were cool to touch and couldn’t harm anyone; it was why he wasn’t worried about letting a butterfly flutter through the air around Dejun’s face, wings tickling his hair and face before landing on his nose. Yangyang reached out to try and touch it, only for the butterfly to disappear into nothing and reappear by his ear before setting off again. 

It was a cat that fluttered down to Kunhang, weaving its way through the air and paws stepping down as though it was walking an invisible staircase until it brushed against his wrist like a real creature, flickering, white flames little more than a faint cool touch, like a breeze. Said male glanced up at him and grinned, all teeth. “Mark told you, then?”

“Mark tells me _everything_ ,” Taeyong pointed out. He wasn’t angry, far from it, just . . . curious. “Mark was really embarrassed about it. Kun seemed so sure that Zitao was dangerous but apparently you and Dejun don’t think so.”

“Oh no, he’s definitely dangerous,” Dejun chuckled softly. “I just don’t think anything he’s done so far has been malicious or meant to hurt anyone — he’s trying to help. We need all the allies we can get.”

“How can you say that, ge?” Renjun was always teasing the others and being so playful that it took Taeyong a moment to register that the angry, almost betrayed tone had come from him. “He’s the reason we’re in this mess — ever since he got here things have gotten worse and worse and look at Sicheng, how can you defend him when he’s turning him into . . . into . . .”

“Whatever Zitao is doing to him, it’s making him worse,” Yangyang agreed with a frown. Taeyong watched the way that Chenle shuffled over on his butt to rub a hand over Renjun’s back as he finally sat up properly, his brows furrowing. He’d never met this man but he was already starting off with a negative disposition just for the fact he’d managed to upset them without even being here.

“Yangyang . . .”

“No, Dejun, he’s right; whether he’s trying to or not you can’t pretend Sicheng hasn’t been going downhill ever since Zitao started weaselling his way in. We’re supposed to protect him, but how can we when he won’t even trust us with anything? We’re supposed to be _brothers_.”

“Hey,” Dejun attempted to console as he sat up straighter and reached out. Taeyong could see the way he held back a wince. “We _are_ brothers. Sicheng’s just . . .”

“Lost,” Taeyong murmured. Multiple sets of eyes shifted to him. “Don’t doubt how much he cares about you — _all_ of you. I know it might be hard right now, like he’s shutting you out, but . . . he probably feels like he’s doing the best thing to keep you safe.” It hit too close to home.

“How do you know?” Chenle asked quietly.

Taeyong just smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair before he could duck away and try to fix it. “Magic,” he breathed almost sing-song with a playful glint to his eyes. It succeeded in making them laugh, at the very least.

-

Jongin had always been told he was rather charming and charismatic, but there was certainly a big difference between that and being, well, friendly. He liked to think he was, that he was good with people to a degree, but . . . Jongin knew what (and _who_ ) his priorities were. As a king, his first priority should above and beyond be his people but he couldn’t lie to himself — it would always be _them_ ; he knew he’d been a terrible ruler as of later considering everything, and that he wouldn’t have gotten through without Mark by his side, but he wanted to put that in the past.

These days it wasn’t even about remembering the family he’d lost all those years ago, even though they’d always be something that weighed on his shoulders, but about moving forward and making a difference — he wanted to be a man that they could rely on rather than have to worry about and someone that they could be _proud_ of. No matter how much that nasty little voice in the back of his mind tried to bring all his mistakes back to the surface, Jongin pressed it down. If he dwelled on his shortcomings then he was only going to be even more of a burden. He couldn’t change the past, but he could shape his future.

He wasn’t going to let himself fail them again. 

“I don’t like it,” Jongin grumbled under his breath even as he smoothed his palm over Mark’s back, trailing over the muscles underneath that’d been formed after years and years of hard work. “We don’t know these people, Mark, not really. We have enough to work through without putting ourselves in danger for their sakes.”

“ _Hyung_.” The silver-haired male let out a small sigh at the scolding tone he got in return. “They’re our friends.”

“You don’t usually trust people so easily.” _Like me._

“They’re Lucas’s family, too. Can you really say that you don’t want to help?”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to help,” he tried to clarify after a moment’s consideration, rubbing roughly at his face. “You know that. If it was just me then I wouldn’t be so worried, but it’s all of us, Mark, and I can’t risk any of you.”

“You’re our king, Jongin, but this isn’t just on you. Together, remember?” Jongin pressed his lips together into a half-pout, half-grimace; he _knew_ that Mark was right, but that didn’t have to mean that he _liked_ it. Even Jongin, who’d certainly made it an effort to keep himself rather removed from their hosts, couldn’t deny (at least to himself) that he’d also grown a little impartial to the people here. They were different, but they were good, good in a way he wasn’t quite used to. Even with this mess of a world that they lived in and the cards life had dealt them they were doing well for themselves. They had a ruler who did his best for them and that they not only listened to but adored, someone they knew they could trust to have their best interests.

His people back home were people who’d been through absolute hell, people who he wanted to do right by — most of them approved of him and amongst those there were a lot of people who he’d gained favour with, too. They said he was a good king, but he wanted to be _better_. He wanted to be worthy of the same sort of respect that Sicheng had; not just because he’d swooped in and been a marginally better ruler than the prior one but because even after liberating them he was determined to help them thrive.

“Together,” he mumbled after a silent minute. “We’ll stay and help — all of us.”

Beyond the personal reasons they had to stay and help their new friends, Jongin couldn’t deny that, if things went well, it could be a wonderful advantage. These people were strong and if Sicheng managed to push through this altercation then he’d no doubt be an incredible ally. They could use all the allies they could get, even now. 

Mark shifted over on the bench and Jongin watched as his lips quirked into a gentle little smile, something undeniably fond and filled with warmth. “It’ll be a piece of cake. We’re strong,” the younger male reassured as he knocked their shoulders together. The king let out a rich, full-bodied laugh and shot his arm out to wrap around Mark’s shoulders, tugging him closer even as he squirmed and messing with inky locks in a way that had been familiar ever since they were children.

Eventually, Mark managed to break free with a playful little growl that sounded more like a cub than a full-grown beast. He looked painfully adorable rather than intimidating as he shot Jongin a playful glare and shoved all his weight forward to knock him off the seat and down onto the grass below, his hands falling by his shoulders to prop himself up even as they tangled. “You know,” he breathed, unbothered by the fact he’d been knocked over, “I can hear you and Baekhyun from my room most nights.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t heard you and Taemin.” Jongin shrugged as best as he could in his position and offered a wry grin. 

“No you’re not, you just won’t let what happened on the ship go,” he teased.

“You’re right,” the dark-haired male laughed softly. “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe. You know, we could swap roommates for the night—“

Mark grinned from ear to ear. “Actually, we’re all going to be in the same room tonight anyway — Ten and Taeyong folded the beds up and they’ve laid their mattresses on the floor with the other ones so that there’s plenty of space.” At the way Jongin’s eyes lit up with something far from innocent Mark lighting slapped his shoulder. “To sleep, Jongin.”

“As if we ever _just_ sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _  
> “You’re my brother, Sicheng. You think I’m just going to sit back and listen to you talk about yourself like you’re somehow unloveable? I don’t care what people have said or what they think about you. You’re an incredible person, and some day someone is going to fall hopelessly in love with you for you, not for your magic or your title.” Lucas forced himself to take a deep breath once he ran out and softened his features ever so slightly._


	16. chapter sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Sicheng have a heart-to-heart; Ten orchestrates a plan to ensure that they'll be a united front in preparation for what is to come in the form of reconnecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: I'm sorry this update has taken a while (it feels like forever tbh) but I've been quite busy. I don't know what to say about this chapter other than I hope you enjoy it c;
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- the usual lmao  
> \- but also (very faint) mentions of implied transphobia and everything that comes along with that  
> \- uh. sex.

Lucas was nervous. Really nervous. He shouldn’t have been, not when he knew that within these four walls there was nowhere safer he could be given that he had the six men who loved him most by his side, but still. He was. It was a culmination of a lot of things, really.

For one, there was the fact he still struggled with his, uh, condition. His sessions with Sicheng and the fact he’d been trying to work through all of his trauma had certainly been helping with that, but Lucas wouldn’t say he necessarily trusted himself right now, especially not when any sort of potent emotions was involved. Sure, anger was definitely a trigger, but he knew from past mistakes that it could be anything strong enough to catch him off guard. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever stop being scared of himself and what he could do.

He hadn’t had a major episode in a few days, now; he hadn't thrown up when he caught his reflection or fallen into hysteria when his hands brushed against something which was definitely progress. As much as he’d been frustrated with Taemin (for all of an hour, tops) for knocking him out when Dejun had been injured he _knew_ it’d been for the best. He was grateful for it, really.

He was doing well, considering everything, but it didn’t mean he was out of the woods yet.

It was why he’d spent so long hidden away in Sicheng’s garden, sitting with his back against the cracked stone wall and his knees to his chest, watching as the other male pottered around and watered his plants. Only a week ago he’d decided a few of them were lost causes and that nothing could possibly bring them back from the brink of death, but today . . . they looked a little better. All of them looked healthier to a degree, some even almost normal, just a little brown around the edges of the leaves and limp. Huh. 

“As much as the company is nice,” Sicheng murmured quietly, “you look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Lucas forced himself to look up from where he’d been tracing the lines in the ground which were scattered with little weeds and took note of just how tired Sicheng seemed, how there was a distinct tightness around his eyes and mouth.

“It’s nothing. Just being silly,” Lucas reassured after a moments silence. “Nervous.”

“About what?”

Lucas pressed his lips together as Sicheng set his watering can down and wandered over to sit by his side, their shoulders brushing as he settled in. The dark-haired male just stared at him and waited for an answer. Well, he’d never really been able to keep things from Sicheng back then, either. “I’m staying in a different room tonight.” That in itself was sort of a big deal given the fact that every night so far he’d stayed in his ‘room’ downstairs and even the nights someone had stayed to keep him company he’d still been in that room. 

“And? Your levels are good right now and you’ve been doing good. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not that,” he was quick to clarify. “Well, sort of, but it’s . . .” Lucas hated that he could feel the flush rising to his cheeks as he trailed off, because gods, it _was_ a little embarrassing. He and Sicheng had always been open about everything growing up but even if things felt natural after so long it was a little awkward in this sense. “I’m worried about, you know, if we— and I—“

“For gods sake, Yukhei,” Sicheng interrupted, lightly pinching his earlobe, “just say you’re worried about losing it if you have sex. Why are you acting like a blushing virgin when you’ve got six men who obviously love you? Surely you’ve slept with them before.” Yukhei spluttered a little. Sicheng had always been blunt.

“Yes, but — what, and you’re a genius about it?” He rebutted weakly if just to try and take the focus off his sex life in that moment. He watched as Sicheng’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he looked away, his expression shifting to something a little darker, a little embarrassed, maybe. His jaw tightened. It took Lucas a moment to work through the theories that started to pop up into his mind before his lips formed a small ‘o’. “Wait, you mean . . . never?”

Sicheng obviously wasn’t keen on talking about this, so Lucas didn’t push, but after a tense minute, the dark-haired male sighed.

“Once, just to get it over with,” Sicheng grunted. “It was fine, I guess — do you really think there’s a line of people wanting to crawl into my bed, Yukhei?” Lucas blinked a few times before he furrowed his brows. Did Sicheng really think so lowly of himself? It was a far cry from the boy he’d grown up with who’d always been so confident even if he often came across as shy, who’d been so sure of himself.

“Yes? You’re ridiculously handsome, Sicheng, anyone will admit it. I heard you’ve had a long list of suitors.” Sicheng snorted, though the noise far from happy or amused.

“You think? They’re not after me, Yukhei, they’re only interested because of my power — trust me when I say they want nothing to do with me personally. You know what people think of me.”

Lucas couldn’t help the way his gaze sharpened.

“Don’t,” he spoke firmly, twisting his torso to face Sicheng better. “What did you used to always tell me, huh? It doesn’t matter what other people think because the only people who matter are those who can see past what others can’t.” He could tell Sicheng didn’t like that his own words were being used against him all these years later. 

“You’re my brother, Sicheng. You think I’m just going to sit back and listen to you talk about yourself like you’re somehow unloveable? I don’t care what people have said or what they think about you. You’re an incredible person, and someday someone is going to fall hopelessly in love with you for _you_ , not for your magic or your title.” Lucas forced himself to take a deep breath once he ran out and softened his features ever so slightly. “Or, you know, you could just build yourself a harem of beautiful men or women to wait on you hand and foot and please you,” he teased. “Or people for company, if that’s your thing.”

Sicheng looked a little like a stunned fish as they stared at each other, but that last comment did make him blink. “Company?” Lucas just shrugged and offered a smile. 

“I mean, some people don’t like sex. Or even romance. I didn’t want to presume.”

“You’re . . .” the dark-haired male trailed off, his brows knitting together as his lips moved around silent words before he let out a small, incredulous chuckle. “Gods, you’re still so ridiculously innocent, even now that you’re all grown up.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about your boys, Yukhei, they love you — don’t let yourself get caught up in your head.”

Lucas stared, and for a moment it was like they were children again. It was a far more mature conversation, more serious, too, but the face before him, even if it was older, was one he’d grown up with. He could still picture so vividly those rounder cheeks and the doe eyes Sicheng had always used to his advantage whenever he was up to no good, the way they’d sit and laugh about trivial things. He’d expected it to be painful, being back in these same walls he’d once feared and hated, yet now . . . all he remembered was the good. Not the mistresses caning his hands when one of the older boys blamed an accident on him, but the way all of them had hidden away in their little meadow and laughed as Sicheng hummed that he’d put nettle in said boy’s sheets. Not being locked in his room for days, alone and scared, but how they’d all fallen asleep in a pile of limbs and blankets time and time again as Kun read them stories from the books he’d always favoured. 

“You too, Sicheng,” he murmured softly as he reached forward to settle one of his hands on Sicheng’s nape, drawing him forward to butt their foreheads together in a way which had the other smiling ever so faintly and returning the gesture. 

“Don’t you worry about me. Go spend the night with your sweethearts, we’ll have a big day tomorrow.”

-

You’d think that after a few weeks of settling and the fact there were seven of them, all (mostly) hot-blooded men with needs, there would’ve been some warm reunions here and there. That wasn’t to say _nothing_ had happened — Ten had made the most of his time with Taeyong when he could, sometimes just holding him and sometimes letting hands wander — but for the most part, they’d just had other things on their mind. Lucas, mostly. Now all of this.

But tonight, Ten had a plan.

Sex was nice and he wouldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been anticipating this all day, but it wasn’t just about that — it was about all of them getting some time alone _together_ , about everything else that came along with letting go and relaxing around each other. The intimacy. Besides, he was also one of the said hot-blooded males.

He _could’ve_ kept it a surprise, but truth be told it was even better to know that they’d likely be burning with anticipation of what would come later.

“Are you sure about this?”

Ten glanced up from where he was fluffing some of the pillows he’d gathered from their rooms and quirked one of his eyebrows at the older male. Once upon a time, he hadn’t thought it’d ever be possible to read Taemin but these days he felt like it was second nature; Taemin didn’t have a lot of the tells that most people did, but once you _knew_ what to look for, everything tended to fall into place. “Am I sure about what?”

“This. Tonight.” Taemin’s eyebrow twitched as Ten pushed himself up from the ground.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” It was perhaps just a little satisfying to see the way his words made the other tense his jaw. “Everyone is on good terms. We’ve talked. Lucas is doing good, too, and if there is a mishap then we can deal with it — but that’s not what this is about, is it?” Taemin averted his gaze and pointedly didn’t answer. There was a tenseness in the way he held himself that would be indiscernible to most people, yet to Ten, the difference was glaringly obvious. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know if . . .”

“You don’t _have_ to stay if you’re not comfortable—“

“It’s not that. I want to,” Taemin rushed out, looking frustrated as his gaze snapped back to Ten, laced with something rather troubled. “I want to stay. I want to be here with you. All of you. But if— when things . . .” he trailed off. After a few moments of silence, Ten’s gaze softened considerably. 

“Taemin,” he prompted gently as he reached out to set a warm hand on his chest. “You know we don’t mind. If it’s too much and you want to leave at any time, that’s fine, and if you just want to sit back and watch, that’s fine too. We love _you._ ”

“I don’t like feeding on you if I’m not giving something back,” the elder finally grumbled out even though his tone was much more subdued as he let his head hang a little, dark fringe tickling Ten’s forehead. “I take and take and—“

“Sex isn’t an exchange, you fool.” Ten let out a huff and pressed his lips together before tugging ever so lightly on the other’s earlobe. “And neither is magic, not with _us._ If you’re so fussed then you can owe me a favour, how does that sound?” He hated to do it, but it was worth it just for the way that light returned back to Taemin’s eyes and he offered a small smile, accompanied by a nod that was just the barest hint of a movement. Ten didn’t like _deals_ , didn’t like using Taemin in any way even if it wasn’t like that between them, but he knew that they gave the elder some semblance of control and reassurance; they were familiar. They were also all Taemin had known for a very, very long time. 

“A favour?”

“Mhmm, a favour of my choosing — sound good?”

“Ten— _thank you_.” They had a lot of things to work through, but he was going to bump Taemin and his newfound complex about using the people he loved up his list.

“Don’t mention it,” Ten murmured, “just relax. Let yourself enjoy things.”

After so long of being on the road and running purely on survival instincts and his drive to bring Lucas home, it’d been hard for Ten to just turn all that off once they’d gotten here. It was safe. He didn’t need to worry about anything. Lucas was okay. He could just . . . relax, enjoy the finer things in life, like a long, warm bath where his skin pruned and the air filled with the scent of oils and soap or curling under soft blankets and tangling his legs with Taeyong’s. The days were warm but there seemed to be a constant chill that permeated the air each night here, which was made it all the more satisfying to cuddle up close to the other male and warming cold fingers against his skin.

It was the little things, the simple things, the things that were often taken for granted — those were the things which helped balance him out; like carding his fingers lazily through the fine hairs at Mark’s nape as they sat around and ate dinner, his own plate cleared off and left to the side as he focused on just this. On the smiles and laughter that surrounded the table, the little looks Jongin was shooting him over the meals that were filled with anticipation. 

Ten offered a wink and scratched his nails over the soft skin underneath his hand. He didn’t miss the way that Mark had trouble swallowing his drink.

Cute.

“You’re looking a little red there, Mark,” Baekhyun spoke up from across the table where he was between Lucas and Jongin, lips twitched into a knowing little grin as he sipped at his drink — not wine or liquor, just water from the looks of it. “Is it the drink or something else?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Ten teased before the man in question could even open his mouth and trailed his fingers down over the side of a pale throat. “What do you say, Mark?”

“It’s warm in here.” Ten let out a quiet, rich chuckle and shook his head. 

“Is it really? I didn’t notice.” A foot knocked against his own under the table and Ten glanced over to see Taeyong sprawled in his own chair with a lazy little smile and one arm draped over Taemin, who was beside Mark.

“Don’t be mean.” The words, although chiding, were laced with something incredibly playful; it only served to make the kittenish smile stretched over Ten’s lips grown even wider.

“Mark likes it when I’m a little mean, don’t you, sweetheart?” Mark gulped and those too-wide eyes flickered to him, a little apprehensive but painfully endearing and (rather terribly) hiding an obvious desire. All he got was an odd little squeak of noise in response. 

“As cute as this is,” Kun spoke up dryly from the table beside them, watching with an odd, pinched expression like he was torn between being unimpressed and endeared, “you’re in a very, very public space and there are children present.”

“We’re not children, gege.” Chenle looked far too pleased to observe with the way he was happily chewing his food. Renjun snickered under his breath and lightly elbowed the other’s side before Kun set a hand on both their necks and squeezed, smiling in a way that was a little threatening in its own way.

“Like I said, _children_.”

“Don’t worry,” Ten laughed as he pushed his chair out from the table, “we’ll get out of your hair.”

It was rather conspicuous that the whole group slowly got up and filtered away from the table once their dinner was finished, but then again it wasn’t like any of them had been over subtle from their arrival — none of then had gone out of their way to broadcast the truth or tell people but that had only fuelled more rumours than even Ten had expected. Now it was just sort of amusing to hear the sorts of things that people had come up with on their own.

As his hand came to rest on the wooden door and moved to push it open, a warm body plastered to his back and scorching lips skipped down his throat. Ten smiled. “Hands off, Baekhyun,” he hummed playfully as he pressed it open and stepped inside as those hands slipped away with a frustrated huff. 

“Ten—“

“Uh-uh, wait for the others.” Hell, he could already hear footsteps coming down the hall and sure enough, there was yet another creak in the floorboards as he lit the last candle and let the flame dancing across his fingers taper off into a wisp of smoke. 

“Everyone is going to be talking,” Jongin spoke up from the doorway with a lazy grin and one arm slung around Taeyong’s shoulders to tuck him in close to his side as they strolled in. Taeyong’s hair already looked a little ruffled, his lips slick with saliva. 

“As if they don’t always,” Baekhyun snorted as he rucked his shirt up over his head and tossed it off to the side of the room without any hesitation whatsoever; he looked completely at home as he sprawled back into some of the lush rugs and offered a lopsided little smirk. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Ten let out a heavy sigh and ruffled his fingers back through dark hair before setting one hand on his hip. Well, he supposed he had him there. 

Playful laughter echoed down the hallway, and it was a laugh that Ten knew far too well after all these years — Mark’s laugh was rather individual, after all, a little dorky but still incredibly endearing. It was the sort of noise that was capable of putting a smile on his face no matter what. The noise grew in volume and was accompanied by a lower, richer chuckle until finally, the last three figures stepped through the door; Taemin’s fingers pulled it closed behind them with a barely audible _click_ of the lock. 

Mark’s cheeks were flushed with a fine layer of colour (probably from the teasing and the alcohol, not that Ten had seen him take more than a few sips) and Lucas was grinning from ear to ear, eyes holding a shine that was so rare these days as he managed to somehow make himself appear smaller than Taemin and tuck into his side. It was painfully sweet. 

Taemin looked like . . . well, Taemin. Gorgeous and otherworldly with the way his dark hair was haphazardly pushed back off his forehead and his skin shone under the candlelight; that ethereal air to him was dampened by the fond little tilt to his lips and the way his fingers danced over Mark’s shoulder as they all moved further into the room and joined the fray. Ten allowed himself a moment to let his eyes wander over each man in the room before he let the corner of his lips curl into a blase smirk as he ever so slowly slid the silk shirt that’d been hanging over his frame up and over his head. The material moved like water, rippling under his touch as he let it fall down onto the floor underfoot without any care.

Even after all these years they struggled to make the first move, but that was okay; given the fact that it was rare for all of them to all convene like this, he could still count the number of times they’d indulged. It was easy to get lost in the moment with one, two, even three people, yet more bodies meant more minds, more thoughts — more negotiation. It was never the same as last time, not when some may have specific preferences or desires on any given day. One thing Ten knew was that the more they thought about it the harder it would be.

Ten was hyper fixated on the way he could _feel_ eyes on him as he walked across the room to where Baekhyun had made an obvious point of sprawling back into the pillows he’d laid about earlier. The elder rose up a little as though he was about to push up to meet him before the warlock clicked his tongue and pressed nails gently into the exposed skin of Baekhyun’s chest; it had an instantaneous effect of making his breath hitch. “Down, boy,” he teased. It earned him an arched eyebrow and a wide, toothy grin that was playful yet allowed hints of that desire and anticipation undoubtedly bubbling under his skin.

Baekhyun had always been a jokester, a tease — he thrived on riling them up and making them beg, on the power he was able to have over them, which was why, given Ten’s often similar approach, they tended to work well together. It was also the reason they clashed in the bedroom. Ten wouldn’t say ‘clash’ had any negative connotations in these circumstances, it just meant that, well, they loved to needle each other. It often dissolved into friendly, albeit fierce, competition. A game of chicken, really— who could push the _furthest_?

“ _Ten_.”

“ _Baekhyun_ ,” he mimicked with a playful hum to his voice as he pressed the other back to lean on his hands and dared to spare a glance back over his own shoulder. “Are you all just going to stand there and watch?” It was charming, in a rather roguish way— the way that Jongin removed his own shirt slowly and lobbed it past Lucas to fall onto the ground with that signature smirk of his. His silver locks were a little longer these days, the fine hairs tickling his nape and falling into his face every now and then if he didn’t keep pushing them back. It was a nice look.

Then again, Jongin had always been capable of making anything look incredible.

“You heard the man,” Taemin spoke up as he strode forward to rest ever so elegantly on a perch of pillows and rugs, legs crossed but arms posed more invitingly, his head cocked as warm brown eyes flickered to molten gold and watched them. “Perhaps we could start with shedding a few layers.” Ten didn’t expect Taemin to include himself in that suggestion. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, that on one of these nights where Taemin wasn’t as interested in playing that his clothes never moved off his body, yet as Ten feathered his fingers through the faded blond-brown locks before him he saw Taemin beckon to someone behind him.

It was Taeyong who came into his peripheral first, some of his fingers laced with Mark’s to lead him forward towards where Taemin was reclined as he unceremoniously dropped down (really, it was unfair how beautiful they were together) to settle by his side and dragged the younger closer. The kiss that

Taemin pressed to each of their cheeks was completely innocent even as he let Mark unbutton his shirt with shaky fingers, his own trailing over Taeyong’s side idly as they watched. 

Lucas’s breath hitched somewhere in the space behind him and a low chuckle that could only belong to Jongin followed. Ten smiled as he finally turned his attention back to Baekhyun who was, completely unabashedly, palming himself through unlaced pants with one hand as the other trailed curious digits up over his thigh to his bare stomach. The warlock let out a pleased little sigh and leant into the touch as his nails scratched gently at Baekhyun’s scalp before the touches moved onto a patch of skin that relayed only muted sensations. Old scars. Once upon a time he’d hidden each mark in an attempt to appear as perfect as he could, as desirable, yet these days . . . these days he often forgot they were there.

Baekhyun, as though sensing his line of thought, leant forward to trace his tongue over the pale sheen of the faint scar by his hip and chase it with a hint of teeth that dissolved into wet, open-mouthed kisses over his skin. “I almost forgot how pretty you were. It’s been a while,” was hummed against the side of his stomach as deft fingers toyed with the edges of his pants. 

“Almost? I’m offended, hyung.”

“As if I could ever forget you, Ten,” Baekhyun snorted under his breath as he peered up at him through that messy, faded fringe of his; Ten traced the line of darker hair at his scalp where his natural hair was growing through and pressed into his hands in invitation. “You’ll let hyung make you feel good, right?”

“If he’s lucky.” Regardless of his words, Ten let the other peel his pants down his thighs until he could kick them off, eyelashes fluttering as he tipped his head back with a groan at the way lips teasingly trailed over his thighs and the hollow of his hip. Tonight, he was in no rush. Ten had always favoured the build-up. The anticipation. 

It was so easy to get lost in it — the drag of warm, slightly chapped lips as they skipped over the sensitive skin by his groin, the smooth dance of fingers making whimsical paths over the backs of his thighs and knees up to the crease of his buttocks, barely even ghosting touches that had goosebumps forming in their wake; the brush of a heated cheek or a few locks of hair, a humid puff of air that made a shiver rise up his spine as his underwear was discarded and the way his muscles tensed instinctively. 

The dark-haired male forced his eyes open and fought back a shudder as he glanced over to his side and— _oh_. No matter how much time passed, they’d never cease to take his breath away. Rippling expanses of exposed skin in varying shades shifted in his vision like a nest of serpents, accompanied by breathy little noises and curses. Somehow, clothes had been shed. Even Taemin was free of the pants he’d still been wearing last he looked, and though Mark was laying with his head on his thigh, squirming and groaning as Taeyong licked into his mouth and ground their hips together, the elder simply looked content to card his fingers through white hair as he watched them. Ten wouldn’t call his expression one of arousal, just . . . appreciation, something heady with the buzz of energy building in the air. 

Lucas was not too far away, sitting back on his — no, _Jongin’s_ thighs — with one hand curled tightly around Jongin’s, which was covered in shining fluid and stroking painfully slow over his aching erection as the other roamed greedily over the muscles of his chest and stomach. Jongin seemed far too content to stay like that as he whispered filth into the younger’s ear and grazed teeth over the shell of his ear to tease a bite.

Of course, Ten would want to watch them all regardless, but they did need to keep an eye on Lucas tonight — just in case.

Suddenly a warm, wet mouth sealed around the leaking head of his cock and _sucked_ , drawing a loud, lewd moan from his lips as his hands flew back to Baekhyun’s hair and tugged. That only served to make the elder hum around his length and dip the tongue into that sensitive spot just under the glans, pleasure pooling in his stomach. Evidently, Baekhyun didn’t like being ignored.

_‘Pay attention to me,_ ’ his eyes seemed to say as he sunk down a little further. The hand not resting on his thigh rubbed over his hip firmly before sliding down to trace over the sensitive skin of his balls and making him shiver as the weight shifted over his palm. Ten was certainly paying attention to him now.

To be honest, it was a rare treat for Baekhyun to go down on him — the other man was a big fan of blowjobs and seemed to prefer them any day, yet it was no secret that he wasn’t the biggest fan of the taste, which was fine because it didn’t mean he was an inconsiderate lover by any means. No, Baekhyun was a _very_ attentive lover. Ten certainly felt more than a little spoilt. “Hyung,” he moaned softly as he tugged Baekhyun’s hair a little tighter and shuddered when the elder hollowed his cheeks again. “Hyung, _more_.” He wouldn’t usually indulge him so much, but it was . . . well, nice, to be pampered a little. 

Ten was having _considerable_ trouble focusing on the moans and other noises that were filling the room. Baekhyun’s mouth was absolute heaven. “I— _Baekhyun_ , let me—“

He didn’t even get a chance to finish his request before hands were slipping under his thighs and hoisting him forward a little before he was being dropped on his ass down onto the rugs, his head pillowed not too far from Taemin’s left thigh — it was more comfortable like this, considering that his legs had been shaking when he’d been standing, but it also gave him a much better view of _everything._

“Dinner and a show,” Baekhyun mused hoarsely as he settled between his thighs and mouthed lazily at his hip, staring up at him with a smug little grin and slick lips. Ten just bit his lips and canted his hips up playfully; an airy giggle fell from his lips when his dick skidded over the other’s cheek, leaving a slick trail which made Baekhyun arch an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Ten.” 

A warm hand slid into his own and grappled for purchase, squeezing as an all too familiar moan rung out in the room, louder than any other current noises. Lucas. And by the gods, he was . . . he was a gorgeous, _sinful_ sight, stretched out with his cheek pillowed high on Taemin’s thigh, flushed cheeks and wet eyes, back arched up, choked noises falling from his lips as Jongin thrust into him again. All that beautiful, honey-skin glistening with sweat — rippling muscle moving with each movement, whether it was the continuous roll of Jongin’s abdomen and the definition of his thighs to the way Lucas trembled with each thrust forward, his cock hard and leaking where it hung down between his legs. Ten wished he had longer arms; all he could do was squeeze back.

And here he was thinking that maybe they’d have to go easy on Lucas tonight. Apparently not.

He looked past them just in time to watch as both Mark and Taeyong stifled their cries of release against each other’s lips as they made quite the mess over the former’s stomach. Sometimes it was really, really hard to fathom that this was his life — that these men were _his_ , all of them. 

Ten’s orgasm hit him so suddenly that he really didn’t have time to brace for it at all; Baekhyun’s nose brushed against his stomach and the hand not bracing him up rubbed firmly over his balls. It was a dangerous combination that was only amplified by the way that he could see Lucas almost crying as Jongin blanketed his body with his own and expertly rolled those hips of his. If he ever doubted Baekhyun’s love for him, the fact the elder swallowed was enough to reassure him.

His chest was still heaving by the time Baekhyun pulled off and wrinkled his nose. Ten let out a shaky gasp, muscles still contracting a little with the aftershocks and what felt like such a cool breeze, but as his eyes started to focus he realised the elder was sitting up higher on his knees, shuffling forward and stroking furiously over his own erection which looked positively painful. “Poor baby,” he managed to rasp out as he urged the other closer by his thighs. Needless to say, Baekhyun was far too eager to settle over his shelf and let Ten's hands replace his own. Based on the shakiness in his breath, Ten figured he wasn’t too far off, either, but a few well-placed swipes of his tongue over the head of the other’s cocks had Baekhyun crying out a curse and almost doubling over — he only had a moment to close his eyes before the warm liquid was spurting out over his face.

It was no surprise whatsoever to see that, though they’d both already found release, that Taeyong had Mark getting him off once again, trembling with the throws of oversensitivity as he moaned and clutched at his shoulders for purchase. It was also no surprise that when he came once again Taeyong had no problems swiping the combined mess on their stomachs up onto his fingers and licking it off with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue that had Mark cursing under his breath. 

To think that once upon a time they’d thought that Taeyong was innocent.

Two orgasms down, you’d assume that Taeyong would be done — you’d be wrong. The white-haired male was flushed and shining under the candlelight as he pushed himself up and steadied himself with a hand on Taemin’s chest so that he could lean over and try to coax Ten closer; Baekhyun was flat on his back beside him and still, uh, recovering, so after a moment he managed to get himself up and into Taeyong’s shaky embrace. Even now he was hyperaware of that faint tremor in Taemin’s body as he watched them seal their lips together. No doubt he was overwhelmed by the meal that was being served up to him on a silver platter.

Feline eyes watched with a heady intensity as fingers and tongue cleaned up his face, warm, damp air following in their wake with shaky breaths before Taeyong’s slick lips returned to his own. It was utterly depraved: the taste of sweat and cum passed from tongue to tongue. Despite the well-sated buzz under his skin it only served to amplify the warmth that filled every inch of his body. Jongin was no doubt getting quite the show, watching on at the pretty picture they all made.

Eventually, they separated with a line of viscous fluid connecting their lips and all Ten could do was offer a blissed-out curl of his lips. They were both a mess. He felt like he was floating, drunk not just off the pleasure but the magic that had risen in the air around them — it was beyond any liquor or drug you could dream of. That high was momentarily interrupted by a panicked sort of noise from beneath them.

They were quick to pull back. Lucas’s fingers were curled into pale fists as he struggled with the rugs underneath and tried to wrench himself away, teeth gritted painfully, features twisted into something almost terrified. One lone, dark tendril started to snake around his palm.

Before Ten could make a move Taeyong was cupping his cheek and forcing the other male to tilt his head up enough to meet his gaze; those warm brown hues were far less opaque like they were covered by a film. Of course— overwhelming sensation. “It’s okay Lucas— hey, _look_ at me,” Taeyong soothed in an utterly wrecked voice as he let the energy (albeit a small amount so far) sink into his own skin. 

“I can’t—“

“You can control it,” the fae reassured in a firmer tone before Lucas could even voice his doubts. “Stop fighting it, love. Trust me?” For a moment it felt like everyone held their breath as they waited to see what would happen, what Lucas would decide, and Ten felt like he was so sure that Lucas would withdraw once again and panic, but instead . . . instead, he let out a shaky breath before melting under Jongin and Taeyong’s hands. It was _jarring_ , to see his eyes go pale even as an expression of serenity stretched over his features and he pillowed his cheek high on Taemin’s thigh again. Fingers carded through his hair as other hands smoothed over his hips, everyone stilled and waiting with bated breath.

It wasn’t— no, it _was_ Lucas. 

“Give him something to focus on,” Taemin spoke up suddenly, slitted pupils meeting Jongin’s across the expanse of Lucas’s body. Said male looked understandably a little hesitant.

“Min, are you sure?” Before the warlock could open his mouth again Lucas was letting out a half-whine and pressing his hips back ever so slightly, pulling a choked groan from their king. Despite his own apprehensions Ten trusted Taemin, and he knew that, really, it made sense — Lucas had always been the sort who desired nothing more than to please, no matter what form that took. It was unconventional, probably, yet offering him this outlet, giving him alternative sensations to ground himself with rather than withdrawing and leaving him with nothing, it was more solid than any others ideas they’d entertained. They couldn’t just drain the energy out of him forever.

“ _Move_ ,” Lucas all but snarled, and though the noise was rather feral it wasn’t aggressive or even overly demanding in its tone; if anything it sounded desperate. Wanting. The noise tapered into a hoarse whine when Jongin conceded and began a slow yet sharp and utterly purposeful roll of his hips. 

If gods walked amongst them, they’d look like Jongin. Waves of golden muscles and silver hair plastered to sweat-soaked skin, dark eyes filled with raging desire, plush lips that were red and swollen from where he’d been biting at them. 

“Uh-uh,” Taemin tutted, drawing his gaze back down the line of Lucas’s body to where Taemin had fingers tight in his hair, keeping a wandering mouth at bay. To an outsider, his tone and disposition may have sounded cruel, but Ten, well, he knew better — it made his cock attempt a valiant twitch. Lucas answered with a rumbling whimper and rolled his own hips again in frustration which had Jongin doubling his efforts.

Despite the fact that Taemin was surrounded by (dare he say) gorgeous men in various states of fucked-out bliss and sex his length was soft and limp where it rested proudly against his thigh. It wasn’t overly surprising. Some nights when Taemin had removed himself from the action and watched or directed them he’d never so much as removed his clothes or shown any signs of arousal, even as he fed, whereas others there’d be an obvious tent that was never touched or his own hand. Sometimes he touched them but wanted nothing in return. It always felt like such a pleasure, literally and figuratively, to be allowed to please him.

“Do you need something to fill your mouth too, pup?” The way Lucas shivered at his words was utterly intoxicating and Ten finally relaxed a bit more in his spot. He even let Baekhyun curl in close in a tangle of warm limbs, fairly certain that he wouldn’t need to suddenly jump up again.

It was always so hot when Taemin to a little mean; there was no one who knew what they needed better than him, whether it was a firm hand or a reward, or sweet, gentle kisses and the slide of bodies.

Lucas seemed to try and duck his head down again like he took those words at permission but it only served to make Taemin yank his head up again with ease, not enough to hurt but enough to make Lucas, in his current state, listen to him. Long fingers trailed ghosting touches down over Lucas’s cheek before his thumb swiped over a plush lower lip, toying with it before the younger got the hint and parted them with a glassy expression. 

Ten couldn’t deny that he wasn’t used to it. The eyes. A small part of him felt unimaginable guilt that he could ever look at his lover and feel the beginnings of fear but after what he’d endured . . . he knew it was understandable. Something that he’d get over. This was the first step, certainly.

Lucas had the sense to stay still as Taemin slid two fingers into his waiting mouth and traced over the flesh of his tongue with his head cocked ever so slightly, observing, making the younger male wait patiently before he nodded and the other sealed his lips around the two digits. 

Watching Lucas come undone would always be one of his favourite pastimes — from the way he moaned and whined around the fingers in his mouth, worshipping them like they were a cock, to the way he kept twitching and jolting as Jongin worked him over with his hand and the length buried inside him, those magical hips. He was utterly gorgeous when he was a mess.

Jongin came first with a hoarse cry and doubled over to sink his teeth into the meet of Lucas’s shoulder but Lucas didn’t follow instantly. He barely even had a chance to glance up at Taemin with glassy, white eyes before Taemin was hushing him fondly and smiling.

Ten’s eyes rolled back with pleasure as magic exploded throughout the room, mind falling into blissful nothingness.

Waking up felt like trying to wade through water while being weighed down with layers of clothes. His eyes were heavy and barely able to flutter open as he fought through the waves that threatened to pull him back under. The first thing Ten truly registered was that he felt utterly boneless, every inch of his body filled with a warm, pleasant hum which made him want to do nothing more than curl into a ball and smile. Everything just felt so . . . so _good._ The second was the sound of quiet breathing and a faint shuffle. The third was Taemin when his vision finally came into focus.

During the time he’d been unconscious, the elder had slipped on a pair of loose-fitting pants that were almost sheer in the faint light, moving between them carefully with a damp rag. Most of the candles had been extinguished so that it was much darker but there was still enough light for him to see clearly, to see the expression on his features. It was utterly reverent. His touch was so incredibly gentle as he finished cleaning the mess off of Baekhyun’s body and brushed back some of those faded blond strands with the pads of his fingers. He knew Taemin loved them — there wasn’t an inch of doubt in his body of that — but he’d never seen him look at them like this. Like they were the sum of his entire world. 

Taemin pressed a gentle kiss to Baekhyun’s forehead before moving over towards him. His lips twitched fondly when he saw Ten was awake and all the younger could do was offered a lazy little grin. “What was that? I’ve never felt anything like it,” he mumbled, words slurred with content. The older warlock let out a faint chuckle.

“I didn’t account for having such strong lovers,” he hummed as he settled down by Ten’s head and gently dragged the cloth over his chest. “You’re all considerably stronger. I used what I thought was enough to make Lucas come,” Taemin explained, “but . . . well, I’ve never fed that strongly, not even when I’ve tried.”

“We overloaded you?” Ten managed through suppressed laughter. “You made us all come again, then? Without even touching us?” It was painfully endearing to see the way Taemin looked almost bashful as he hid behind his fringe, hair smoothed down over his forehead rather than pushed back. “How did it feel?” 

The elder was quiet for a few moments before he looked up and smiled again. His cheeks held the faintest hint of colour. “Incredible. It was . . . how did Baekhyun put it? _Dinner and a show_.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to practice so that we don’t _accidentally_ do it again,” Ten teased as he guided the elder down into a sweet little kiss, removing the rag from his hand and tossing it aside. “It’ll be fun to play with.”

“Very.” Ten only just managed to pull back before he yawned. “Come on, let’s get you back to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, Ten.” 

“You too,” the younger insisted with a pout. He knew Taemin was weak to resist. 

Taemin settled down onto their makeshift bed and let Ten settle high up with his head on his shoulder, Baekhyun plastered against his own back and snoring softly, Lucas hugging his leg like a content child, fast asleep; Jongin was draped haphazardly over Taemin’s thighs with his face mushed into a pillow; Mark was curled in tight to Taemin’s side with his cheek pillowed just below his chest and Taemin’s fingers in his hair, Taeyong having somehow weaselled his way under Taemin’s arm so he was touching both of them and could sling a thigh over Mark, his own fingers spread almost possessively over the sigil on Taemin’s chest. It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _Tonight, he wasn’t Kim Jongin, the man who was still working to be a better person for those he loved, the one who would never truly stop being apprehensive (a fancy word for shy) around people he didn’t know, the one who had woken up with drool crusted to the side of his mouth and a blanket stuck to his thigh. Tonight he was King Jongin and he needed to be the man people associated with that title. He needed to be strong. Fierce. He needed to be someone that these people would not only respect but someone they would fear, because that was how these people judged your worth._


	17. chapter seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the longest night, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got so, so long, so I've split it into two parts. This is one is . . . not too bad c:,'
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- general implied transphobia and anything included, such as intentional misgendering  
> \- other than that nothing that hasn't been covered in previous chapters, I think

Tonight, he wasn’t Kim Jongin, the man who was still working to be a better person for those he loved, the one who would never truly stop being apprehensive (a fancy word for shy) around people he didn’t know, the one who had woken up with drool crusted to the side of his mouth and a blanket stuck to his thigh. Tonight he was King Jongin and he needed to be the man people associated with that title. He needed to be strong. _Fierce_. He needed to be someone that these people would not only respect, but someone they would _fear_ , because that was how these people judged your worth.

He took one deep breath, then a second just because he needed another moment, and then he finally forced his gaze up to meet the stranger in the mirror.

It’d always been easy, _before_ , to play the part and front as a character that he’d felt had no bearing on his real self, easy to put all of the bits he disliked most about himself on that name, but it wasn’t _before_ anymore. Kai hadn’t been a fake persona he could use as justification, he’d been part of himself, the bits he didn’t want to own up to. Now it felt like all of that was gone, but the void still hadn’t closed up, he'd just filled it with different things, different failures.

Now it was just him, pretending. 

The man in the mirror looked like what he imagined Kai must have been. He stood tall, with shining golden skin and dark eyes that so heavily contrasted against the silver hair that fell down over his temple on one side. His clothes were a far cry from the blue and gold he donned for formal occasions at home, instead startling black on black with highlights of silver metal and lots of skin. No matter his apprehensions he knew Ten had done the right thing choosing an outfit such as this.

He looked _powerful_. Jongin straightened up and let out the breath he’d been holding as his muscles fell into familiar positions, radiating confidence from the angle of his hip to the tilt of his jaw, the cool regard that’d settled into his gaze. The pants, if they could be called that, clung to him like a second skin, the material almost wet-looking and accentuating the muscles of his thighs and calves whenever he shifted. There was no shirt, just leather straps; one came over on either side of his neck, resting over his collarbone and coming to a metal loop. From there one strap came down to his stomach, and on either side at the base there were three straps that wrapped around his torso. 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about going to what was apparently an official even half-naked, which was why he was glad that Ten had provided him with a long, black coat which came down to just above his ankles (which were sporting boots he’d had trouble doing up with the number of buckles) and was completely plain. 

A simple, silver crown to top it off, plain but elegant. He’d never see Sicheng wear any sort of crown before yet Ten had insisted this was important tonight.

He looked the part. Now Jongin just needed to act it. 

The door behind him opening and closing wasn’t audible to his ears, but after a few moments another tall figure joined him in the frame of the mirror, golden eyes meeting with his own. Warm hands settled on his waist and Taemin maintained his gaze as lips were pressed to his exposed throat. “You look breathtaking, Your Majesty.”

“Says you,” Jongin breathed out with a soft chuckle as he covered those hands with his own. Perhaps he would look every part the charming, foreign king they were expecting, but Taemin? Taemin looked absolutely otherworldly. There would be no masquerading as human or less than the blood that ran through his veins, not tonight — from the way his hair had been parted and swept back a little on one side to the way that, even now before their departure, his eyes were luminescent and narrowed. Perhaps those wings would even make an appearance tonight.

Taemin was always stunning beyond compare but tonight he seemed to be playing up that ethereal charm. There was no mistaking him for anything else than what he was, not when his skin shone with each movement and the air around him radiated with power. It was only accentuated by the outfit he’d chosen. The pants were not too different from his own save for the fact there were heavy buckles on the sides that glinted with each step but the shirt was a simple silk blouse that was also jet black, revealing a deep, low v of his chest and a delicate silver body chain that hung from his throat. On his right hand only, he wore a delicate lace glove that disappeared beneath his sleeve.

“Is everyone else ready?”

“Mm. Mark is being teased relentlessly for his outfit. Kun told us the plan has changed and that we’re to be as intimidating as possible.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, yet. We’re just waiting on Sicheng before we leave but he shouldn’t be very long.”

Jongin swallowed thickly before turning on his heel and setting his palm over Taemin’s heart. “Tell me we’re not making a mistake.”

“We’re doing the right thing, Jongin, and I swear to you that I won’t let anything bad happen.” Taemin always had been so careful with his choice of words.

Under any other circumstances, Jongin would’ve taken a chance to instantly drink in praise detail of the outfits that were presented to him once he and Taemin finally headed downstairs to join the procession. They all looked utterly breathtaking in their combinations of black and silver and _skin_. Some, namely Baekhyun and Ten, though there seemed to be some under Taeyong’s eyes too, had certainly gotten into the kohl, smoking it out to accentuate their eyes. If he didn’t known any better, Jongin wouldn’t peg any of them as human.

Ten’s dark hair was ruffled artfully and he was adorned with more jewellery than Jongin could count, from chunky rings to the fine chains hanging down over his collarbones and the litany of shining studs and rings in his ears. There was no shirt, only a long, dark coat which was pinned in a singular spot near his sternum, revealing a narrowing v of his chest that fell low before it was cut off — it wasn’t overly scandalous, but it provided the illusion of _more_ , and looking at Ten it was hard not to let one’s eyes wander.

Well, Jongin could understand why Mark was being (playfully) tormented by his friends for his appearance, though it was by no means in a negative way. He looked . . . none of the words Jongin could bring to mind were remotely suitable. He’d thought the younger male had pulled out all the stops that night of the ball, but tonight? He didn’t just look handsome, he looked positively sinful. Other than the face he wore Jongin couldn’t compare this to the young boy he’d first known all those years ago. For one, his hair was pushed back in a way that was purposefully a little messy and it instantly had the effect of making him present far more mature. His eyes looked sharper, tonight, features more defined. The mesh shirt he wore showed faint glimpses of the shadows of muscles underneath he was never one to show off, accentuated by a thick, cropped jacket that was just as black and stopped a few inches above the waistband of his pants. No weapons were allowed tonight but he could only imagine what it’d look like if Mark had his bow, too. 

Baekhyun was _Baekhyun_ , but even so, this was definitely a step up from his normal outfits; Jongin was starting to theorise that, essentially, his lovers needed to wear black a lot more often. For one, his hair had been touched up — it was a paler, ashy brown which certainly suited him, the hair underneath where the shorter sides and such hadn’t grown out completely a bit darker. He looked every part the gorgeous creature that’d seduced him when they’d first met. His clothes look like they’d been painted on. The paints had a higher waist than he was used to and had the illusion of laced ties all the way up the sides, like a women’s bodice, and the black shirt he had rolled to his elbows was buttoned down the middle and tucked into the pants, stretching tight over his chest like they’d purposely chosen one two sizes too small. Jongin was willing to bet that’s exactly what had taken place.

Jongin . . . by the gods, he didn’t even know where to start when it came to Taeyong. He looked every inch the fae he was and tonight it would be glaringly obvious to anyone who looked his way; he knew that Taemin was capable of playing up his appearance with his power, and looking at Taeyong at that moment he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found a way to use a similar technique. He was always ethereal, but tonight? It appeared as though he glowed from within, a fine sheen which made you look twice and wonder if it could possibly be a healthy glow or something more, something magical. His outfit _paled_ in comparison to his beauty.

And then there was Lucas.

Whatever Jongin had expected of the younger male it wasn’t _this_. 

One of Jongin’s earliest memories, and one of the ones he held so dear, was a warm summers day where he and his cousin had been allowed into the kennels. At the time he hadn’t understood what the royal hounds were for — that his father and his men took them out on the hunts they so often frequented and that the sweet, slobbering dogs were rather lethal at times — only that they were adorable. Something he remembered with the utmost of clarity was the thick collars that they’d all been wearing.

The thick band of leather buckled around Lucas’s throat was very, _very_ reminiscent of the royal hounds. His honey-brown hair was tousled in a way that looked a little rough, though no doubt purposeful.There . . . well, there wasn’t really much else other than a pair of tight black pants. Lucas had never been shy about his body in any sense but there was a difference between confidence and the fact he was going to walk into this meeting half-naked, collared like some sort of _animal_ , and even Jongin could see that he looked a little with the way he was shifting on his feet as they waited.

“You sure about this?” Yesterday Lucas hadn’t even been sure about coming with them and now he was standing here like this, his eyes an opaque white that was definitely going to take some getting used to. He was proud of him for finally being able to control this curse to a degree. 

Lucas offered an awkward chuckle that seemed out of place with those haunting eyes and ducked his head down as Jongin smoothed a hand over his back. “Not really,” he joked quietly, “but I trust you, and I can’t . . . I can’t just sit behind and let you all march off to help my family while I do nothing. They’re my people, Jongin.” The silver-haired male let out a soft sigh and pressed his lips to his shoulder. 

“Knew you’d say that.”

Most of the Lieshou had already arrived, sans Kun who’d just stepped out into the night air, and they were all dressed rather similarly, though perhaps their outfits were a little more understated. It was a little jarring to see the way that the men he was so used to seeing joking around the halls of Weishen looked every bit the hardened warriors that they’d earned the reputation of. Even if they hid it well, he could see the tightness to their features. 

There was no warning before Sicheng came storming through the wooden doors behind them. His expression was carefully schooled into something unreadable and indifferent but there was a tension in his movements that spoke of something — irritation, maybe? Likewise, Jongin was used to the man he’d somewhat come to know during their time here, someone who preferred loose, comfortable clothing and dressed in a way that was fairly similar to the people who followed him.

Tonight, he lived up to his reputation. His dark hair was swept back off his forehead, features sharper, one eyebrow sporting a prominent slit that was new. His outfit was . . . something. In some ways, it was reminiscent of the clothes he’d sported that first day they’d arrived, like the flared shoulders that served to accentuate the width and made his waist appear smaller, but all he could describe it as was more extreme. Powerful. The blazer was pinned below his sternum and offered a glimpse of a toned chest and stomach without showing off too much, more an illusion of promiscuity than anything else, all black with fine red details stitched around the cuffs and edges. The pants were plain but translated like a second skin and— oh. Jongin couldn’t quite tell where the high boots and the pants begun and ended.

Even he had to admit he looked rather striking tonight.

“Let’s go,” he barked as he stepped past them. They were travelling by portal tonight, apparently, though Jongin wasn’t sure who was in charge of that or how that was going to happen — he’d leave that to the people with actual magic. Idly, as they turned to leave, he noticed that Yuta was the last to join them, his expression dark and turbulent as he stalked forward to join the group. His eyes seemed to be locked onto Sicheng.

Huh.

-

The moment they stepped through Sicheng’s portal, Taeyong could _feel_ the power dancing in the air around them, so thick and cloying and _foreign_ that his own instinctively rose its own defences. Beyond that, he was sure everyone could sense the tension hanging heavy as they spilt forth from the rippling shadows. He doubted any of them were quite sure what tonight was going to hold in store for them.

“There are a few things you need to remember about tonight,” Sicheng spoke firmly as they all recovered from the touch of his magic. Taeyong felt rather fine given that he’d known what to expect after his contact with Lucas’s energy that day but the others seemed mildly affected. At least Mark hadn’t thrown up yet. “One: you will be _nothing_ to them until they believe your worth and deem you worthy of their respect. There may be subtle challenges throughout the night. Tricks. You must stay calm. Two: _blood demands blood_. If you strike first they will take what is owed tenfold. Words do not count. And three,” he added, words considerably more strained as his eyes flitted over everyone, from his Lieshou to them, “you are not my people but tonight you are here under my banners and protection, so if you step out of line, your actions reflect _me_ , my own people. I will be expected to punish you — if I don’t they will take it as weakness.”

Everyone tensed a little at that. “Do not force that on me.” Taeyong could hear that subtle pleading (all he could afford) in Sicheng’s voice and when the other’s eyes slipped over his own gaze he offered a small nod of assent. In a way, Sicheng was just like the tigers who even now stood by his side; dangerous, no matter how close you were allowed to fangs and claws.

“It’s going to be worse than we anticipated, isn’t it?” Taeyong asked Dejun — who was wearing the fierce silver mask of a snarling tiger to hide his features —once they all fell into line to follow after Sicheng. Even now as they walked through the woods he could feel that steady thrum of magic in the air growing stronger, could hear the sound of chatter and music increasing in volume and becoming clearer with every step. He couldn’t _see_ Dejun’s features but he could feel the grimace regardless.

“It will not be pleasant,” the other male replied carefully, “no matter how it may appear. Everyone tries to needle everyone else to move first so that they can claim recompense. No matter what you see or hear you can’t do anything.” He observed as the dark-haired male’s throat bobbed little, just visible underneath the end of the mask which covered his chin. No weapons were allowed within the circle which meant the sword he often carried was absent from his side and his clothes varied from what he usually wore. The dark leather cut off at his shoulders to leave his arms bare, covered with the faintest of scars which were still fading with regular treatment and the definition of his muscles. The vest covered all else as did the pants, though his palms were covered with gloves which ended at his knuckles; no doubt to hide the nasty, warped marks there where he’d been hung from hooks. “I wish none of you had to see this.”

“I won’t think less of you for doing what you have to do to survive. None of us will.” Wide eyes turned to stare at him from behind the horrifying mask filled with disbelief and confusion before he was graced with a weak chuckle. “And I swear to you that I won’t let anyone touch you, Dejun.” Those eyes seemed to grow a little glassy. Taeyong noticed the tightness in the other’s shoulders and the curl of his fists before setting a hand ever so gently on his bicep and squeezing in reassurance. 

“Thank you.” Dejun’s voice was gravelly as he spoke. “I owe you my life, Taeyong. I won’t forget that debt.”

“There is no debt between family,” he answered softly as he allowed a soft trickle of magic to sink below the other’s skin — not enough to truly influence him, just enough to soothe the sporadic racing of his heart and the dampness to his palms. He’d take away all of their pain and worries if he could, but some pain lay far too deep beneath the surface of their skin. Some was etched into the very essence of their souls.

To be completely honest, Taeyong wasn’t overly sure what he’d been expecting of this meeting in terms of the layout or destination, but a glorified tent in the middle of a somewhat barren clearing was not it. It looked perhaps big enough to hold — what, ten people? — if that. Even so, all that noise seemed to be coming from within. With a subtle frown he stepped up closer to the front of their little delegation yet Sicheng didn’t seem confused or surprised in the least, just let Kun and Yangyang pull open each layer of fabric so that he could step inside first with Dao and Ping by his heels. 

When Taeyong finally set foot inside and looked around it . . . well, it took his breath away. Even if this was twisted, alternative magic, the scene was something that he couldn’t help but compare to some of the views he’d seen in the fae homeland. 

The sides of the tent rose perhaps twenty feet up into the air and came into a large, spherical opening in the roof that allowed the light of the full moon overhead to shine through, twinkling stars complimenting the glowing orbs of light hanging in the air everywhere, seemingly drifting with each breeze. Magic. There seemed to be an overwhelming theme of luxe green and gold, from the orbs themselves which cast an otherworldly glow to the fabric around them, the decor down to every minor detail — even the flames that were the sum of the large hearth burning in the middle of the space seemed more gold then regular flames. It was beautiful, truly, but Taeyong knew that beyond the beauty this was nothing more than a show of power.

It didn’t take a genius to be able to discern who was in charge, here. Who their host was. There were various groups of people milling around in various outfits and factions, some more scandalous than others, but at the centre of it all, towards the back of the tent and facing out to everyone, was a low table that had a woman seated behind it; no — saying ‘woman’ didn’t do her justice. Taeyong couldn’t deny that she was by far the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her long, black hair billowed around her in soft waves which were weaved with golden threads that shone with each movement. The black dress she wore left her throat and décolletage exposed and accentuated the paleness of her skin, cutting across just bellow the upper swell of her breasts and sitting just below her shoulders; there were fine gold details littering it and though they seemed to be rather abstract he couldn’t help but liken the winding curls and lines to that of a serpent. 

Her features were utterly breathtaking, with high cheekbones and full, red lips that seemed to fall into a natural pout. From the delicate arch of her nose to her long, fluttering eyelashes and perfectly shaped brows, she was the sort of beauty that people wrote stories about, the sort who could enchant any man with just the faintest glance. Her eyes were the same rich, forest green which decorated the meeting place and shone in a way that he wasn’t sure was entirely natural. 

Even from across the room Taeyong could feel her power but it wasn’t her natural aura, rather a forceful, _purposeful_ projection of her magic that was meant to intimidate. He tucked away that information for future reference. 

There were people all around her that he figured, with disdain, were servants, from the men and women with their heads bowed as though waiting for instruction to move or serve, and by her feet . . . Taeyong could only describe him as a boy, really. He had dark brown hair which was shorter on the sides and longer on top, slicked back on one side, and a masculine face that still held some semblance of baby fat which spoke of his youth — he couldn’t have been older than Chenle or Renjun, surely. That being said, he had a more mature figure, lots of defined muscle that was on display considering the boy hadn’t been afforded a shirt, just a threadbare pair of pants. 

It made Taeyong feel sick to his stomach to see the way he was sat there like some sort of prized _pet_ , like he was less than human — like he was little more than an object to her. Beyond that, he could see that he wasn’t happy to be there. There was such obvious hatred and contempt laced through every inch of his body, from his gaze to the way he held himself as he sat there, jaw ticking each time her voice washed over him.

“Last but not least,” she spoke with a thick, syrupy voice that washed over his senses and made each hair stand on end in the worst way possible. “The Matriarch. It’s a pleasure to host you this time, Sicheng.”

“Lady Liu,” was all Sicheng replied without so much as bowing his head as he met her stare over the flames. Even though Taeyong had already come to that conclusion by his own means it felt rather ominous to have it confirmed. This was the woman who wanted to harm them. The one who’d been the cause of their pain, of Dejun’s senseless torture. It took every inch of the control Yuta had managed to teach him so far to keep his magic tightly coiled within his own body.

Perhaps he did his own glamour to shine a little more brightly; he raised his chin and made sure his head was held high, shoulders squared and confident as all eyes in the tent flickered towards them. Once upon a time, he’d been terrified by the prospect of so many sets of eyes on him, and whilst it was undeniably still nerve-racking in these circumstances, he’d realised that he’d just never really been able to put a name to the emotion. It felt _good_ , to be something that people admired and respected.

“Are we ready to begin?”

“I wasn’t aware you were in a rush, Sicheng — must we get down to business so quickly?” Lady Liu drawled with her chin propped on her palm before letting out a length, exaggerated sigh that ended with a pout of her perfect lips. Nothing about her attitude was friendly or inviting even if she’d done nothing outwardly threatening. Yet. 

There were whispers all around them, some filled with awe and confusion and some bitter, laced with disdain and disapproval that was accompanied by glares and nasty side-eyed glances which, once upon a time, would’ve made him squirm. Now he simply let his own gaze sweep over them with something even that wasn’t cold nor overly warm, just something observational. Recognition that they were there. 

“Yes.”

“We’ve all heard the rumours about your guests, _My Lady_ , but I’m not sure we believed they were true — nor that you were so . . . _close_ ,” another voice spoke up — a woman dressed in rich, red robes which trailed the floor behind her where she stood. Taeyong could hear someone to his left grinding their teeth — Kunhang if he had to guess. He couldn’t deny it pissed him off too. He knew what they were implying — the boys had told him exactly how these people treated Sicheng and the words they whispered both behind his back and to his face.

“Forgive my manners, Lady Liu,” a deeper voice he knew instinctively as Jongin’s spoke up as the other male stepped forward to stand just behind Sicheng and to his side — a position of power, but still inherently one that spoke of respect for their host, “I was simply admiring the location of tonight’s meeting. It’s breathtaking, certainly befitting of our gracious host.” Jongin had always been far too good at flattery, Taeyong noted, as he watched his king duck his head down in respect before looking up again. Sure enough, Lady Liu quirked her lips in amusement and satisfaction. It made something dark and angry curl in Taeyong’s gut.

“I take it you’re the foreign king everyone has been talking about so adamantly. Your reputation precedes you, King Jongin,” Lady Liu hummed.

“Likewise, Lady Liu.”

“What brings you to our country, Your Majesty? I understand you arrived quite suddenly with your court and made your way quite quickly to The Matriarch’s territory — you seem quite close with their people.” Taeyong knew that they had to tread carefully with their answers. 

“We meant no offence with our sudden arrival, My Lady, in fact, we had no idea where we’d be going when we arrived, only that we were searching for members of my court.” There was a faint noise behind him before he felt someone shift closer to his side — Ten, he realised. The other male slipped a hand into his own regardless of any eyes on him and squeezed which was the only sign of his nerves because to the eye he appeared incredibly composed. Indifferent. He understood the spike in nerves when Lucas moved through his peripheral to stand by Jongin with his head bowed completely.

“Ah, I see. _Wong Yukhei_. I remember you caused quite the fuss back in the day — I think we all assumed you’d finally been dealt with when you disappeared all those years ago. Of course, if anyone would be able to tame a _wangliang_ it would be The Matriarch,” Lady Liu chuckled slowly as she sat up straighter and regarded them. “And what is this boy to you, Your Highness?”

“A member of my personal court.”

The whispers around them were no longer whispers, but there were so many voices overlapping one another that Taeyong couldn’t quite discern any individual line of conversation. Even so, he could only imagine what people would be saying. The rumours that would hang in the air. 

Lady Liu did not look pleased about that admission in the slightest. Her perfect features barely shifted save for the faintest twitch to one brow but it was enough for Taeyong to gather it wasn’t what shed expected nor wanted to hear. It implied she couldn’t harm Lucas without possibly incurring the wrath of a foreign king and that, by default, Sicheng did indeed have some sort of alliance with them considering his relationship with Lucas. It made things trickier for her.

“Are you so bold as to bring these people here to try and intimidate us, Sicheng?” One of the few men who seemed to be a leader here barked as he stepped forward, an older woman with paler hair and dark eyes mirroring each of his steps and hanging from his arm. “Perhaps it’s time to teach you a lesson, brat—“

“Is that a threat?” Taeyong found himself speaking before he even really thought it out. Well, he’d known this was coming, and there’d be no benefit in being nervous. His voice was strong and confident despite the fact it was spoken at an even volume without any real hint of malice — powerful. It was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be completely used to but he knew that tonight they didn’t need Lee Taeyong, the boy who’d grown up as little more than a scraggly young man fighting to survive who’d somehow worked his way up in the world, but the man who held power in his blood, who came from a royal line, someone who could command respect.

Taemin had once whispered that power suited him, after all. He hoped he was right. 

“Who are _you_ to interrupt me?” The man snapped in one of those rough, brutish voices that were never very pleasant to the ear, his face starting to turn a similar shade to the robes the lady in red wore. Taeyong stepped forward and offered a confident curl of his lips before he let a small portion of the magic in his body trickle out through his constraints; it rolled through the tent like mist along a forest floor, not aggressive in any way but simply _there_ , reaching and searching, letting anyone have a taste of the peculiar, foreign magic that he possessed. 

_/“I can’t ask this of you, Taeyong,” Sicheng answered quietly after a few moments of staring with obvious surprise before going back to fiddling with the clasp of his blazer._

_“You’re not asking,” Taeyong countered. “I’m telling you that I’ll be standing by you, not just as a member of Jongin’s court, but as myself. Kun told me that things have changed and you need the biggest show of power you can get without hurting anyone — what better than also having a fae prince?”_

_“Why?” Taeyong blinked slowly before cocking his head to the side. The dark-haired male let out a frustrated sort of exhale through his nose and let his features slip into something that was much more obviously affected by his offer, tight with a furrow between his brows and pursed lips. “Why would you help me? I’ve been rude to you. I’ve threatened you. I actively held a knife to your throat and told you I’d kill you. You owe me nothing—“_

_“Sicheng.” It was a little funny, really, the way that Sicheng so obviously wasn’t used to people interrupting him. All Taeyong could do was smile at the other male before slowly moving forward. It was awkward; Sicheng was like a stiff plank as he wrapped his arms around him but he didn’t pull back even though Taeyong’s grip was incredibly gentle and gave him room to. It was a clear out, if he wanted it. “You’re Lucas’s brother. You do everything you can to protect your people. You’re a good man. You’re family — of course I'm going to stand by you.”_

_Slowly, that body relaxed in his arms, not completely but just enough that he knew the other didn’t want to run — the shaky breath Sicheng let out was audible. “You’re crazy,” he grumbled quietly. He wasn’t fooling anyone with how his voice was much softer. “Are all of your people this ridiculously selfless and kind?”_

_Taeyong snorted as he pulled back and squeezed the other’s shoulders. “Gods no, most of the fae I’ve met are far from it — we’re incredibly flawed.” Sicheng just rolled his eyes._

_“It’ll be interesting to see if you can scare anyone with that sweet little face of yours then, Taeyong.”/_

“I am Lee Taeyong,” he spoke as if everyone in the room was listening, as if they should’ve known the meaning behind his name, “and if anything I should be asking who _you_ are to speak to the heir to the fae throne in such a tone.” The man let out a bellowing laugh even as the woman by his side froze and stared directly at him, eyes wide and mirroring a considerable number of others in the tent. Anyone with even a hint of magic would know without a doubt he was telling the truth about his true nature, at least. 

He felt a little smug about the fact he’d managed to catch even Lady Liu off guard with his declaration. 

“Fae? Come now, we’re not talking about children’s tales and old myths.”

“Surely you accept that demons exist and that two of my company are warlocks?” Taeyong prompted.

“Of course. I’m no fool.”

Idly, he heard Taemin stifle a chuckle somewhere behind him like he knew exactly what was coming as Taeyong took one step forward, then another once Sicheng gave a nod of approval, and came to stop in a clear spot where all eyes were on him. Oddly enough he wasn’t nervous — there were no butterflies in his stomach at all, just a pleasant sense of calm that had settled into every inch of his body. Instead of fighting to force down the magic in his veins, he embraced it; it wasn’t a separate entity to control like he’d made the mistake of assuming for so long.

His magic rose with the same ease that the sun did each morning: like it was the most natural thing in the world. The floating orbs overhead flickered a few times before morphing into a brilliant white hue which was almost blinding in nature only a moment before the fire before him followed suite. Golden flames stood no chance against the overbearing white which started towards the ends of dancing tendrils and burrowed its way down to the very core of the fire, a clear victory. Lady Liu was strong, that was undeniable, yet she couldn’t fight the magic that the very world they inhabited consisted of.

Taeyong couldn’t fight the rush of power that surged through his body as his magic poured into every inch of the room, but he found that . . . well, he didn’t want to. A small part of him was still wary of that overwhelming sensation of satisfaction and pride, the way he revelled in the awe in the eyes of some, the wariness in others, the way he could brush his magic over anyone around him and wrap them in its embrace if he so chose. What these people coveted and respected more than anything else was power — they were _desperate_ for it, for more, like they could never have enough.

He could see the desire in their eyes as he commanded the room and it filled him with such an incredibly potent sensation of gratification. 

The flames grew higher and higher, brighter and brighter, starting to slip past the edge of the stones containing it and trailing across the ground like creeping tendrils. The man who’d spoken up so adamantly against him backed away and his companion sent out a wave of her own magic to try and dispel it but to no avail — he stopped just shy of them, his own magic roaring at its restrains like a caged lion, pacing back and forth with nothing but blood on its mind. It wanted to feed on them, not on their flesh but their spirit, the very energy that fuelled their existence, wanted to drain them until nothing remained but a withered husk that would fall at his feet.

_/Taeyong./_

The white-haired fae blinked once before every so slowly the fire slithered its way back into the hearth and coiled around itself, displeased with the reluctance of its master but still obedient. Even if he didn’t trust himself sometimes, he trusted Taemin to be able to bring him back from the precipice. 

“Our guests speak the truth,” Lady Liu spoke in a velveteen purr as those stunning green eyes met his own — they were filled with lust and unbridled desire, not for his face or body (though he imagined she saw that as a bonus) but rather his power. “What an odd group of individuals indeed. It seems The Matriarch is consistently full of surprises.” That gaze held his own for a few more long seconds before it shifted back over to Sicheng with a sly smile stretching over her lips. “Let us talk, then, and get business out of the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _“If you want to see me in one so bad then I’ll try on Jongin’s sometime,” the younger male mused playfully as he cradled his empty cup in one hand. It was a joke, Taemin knew that, but still, the idea of Taeyong lounging back in the throne room with Jongin’s golden crown perched perfectly on his head, perhaps wearing little more than a night robe— yes, that was certainly an idea to entertain later on._


	18. chapter eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the longest night, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG but its a long chapter and I had a lot of trouble culling it down so that it wasn't twice the length. I hope it's okay? Certain things have purposely been hinted at or not explained yet bc they set up for other things/stories.  
> I have so much fun trying to incorporate as much symbolism into this fic as possible even though I know most of it is so obscure ksksks maybe I'll write a post about it all when bloodlines is finished!  
> Hope you're all staying safe and looking after yourself!

Taemin hadn’t been lying — power _did_ look good on Taeyong, and that was an incredible advantage tonight, even if it did undeniably draw more attention to them. It made him look utterly _radiant_ in a way that he’d been able to see burning deep within the younger male the first time they’d met, that unbridled potential that hadn’t had the means nor motivation to be shaped into anything, something he’d been irrevocably drawn to even before they’d met in person. At first it’d felt like looking up at the sky and knowing that no matter how beautiful it was, the brightest star would always be just out of reach; that it was further away than it appeared. Then, Taemin had remembered he’d had wings, that there was nothing stopping him from just _reaching out_.

“It’s a shame you had no desire for a crown,” he murmured as he ducked his head down a little to speak closer to the other’s ear, making sure they were private words just for the two of them. The meeting was filled with raucous conversation and music that almost made it easy to miss the occasional shout or argument that broke out between the factions here and there — it also served to make it near impossible to hear what the faction leaders were discussing at the table with Lady Liu. “You would make a ravishing king.”

Taeyong snickered quietly under his breath in reply and took another long sip of the drink he’d accepted from one of the servers. Many individuals had approached them over the last hour and tried to make conversation, and whilst Jongin had been pulled into a conversation with a small crowd and seemed to be maintaining his composure even as he was forced to shrug off hands that wandered to rest on his arms Taeyong had politely but firmly declined each and every one. It seemed to infuriate people to no end that Taeyong didn’t deem them worth his time yet would offer charming, warm smiles to the servers and try to make conversation. Of course, none of them really dared to answer for fear of incurring wrath from their masters.

Humans could truly be so foolish as to think that owning other humans somehow made them _more_.

“If you want to see me in one so bad then I’ll try on Jongin’s some time,” the younger male mused playfully as he cradled his empty cup in one hand. It was a joke, Taemin knew that, but _still_ , the idea of Taeyong lounging back in the throne room with Jongin’s golden crown perched perfectly on his head, perhaps wearing little more than a night robe— yes, that was certainly an idea to entertain later on.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Since the moment they’d stepped through that portal Taemin had been high alert and hyperaware of each and every person who was under his care tonight, from Sicheng and his Lieshou to his lovers, to Yuta. He knew Jongin had Mark and Baekhyun by his side as foreign leaders tried to win his favour or trick them, but he knew they were aware of what to expect and how to respond after the run through Kun had given them earlier. He knew that Kun was up at the main table by Sicheng’s side, that Lucas was sitting not too far away from the fire with his remaining brothers by his side and Ten, all of them gravitating close to Dejun’s side as though they were acting as a sort of shield. Given what he’d been through, Taemin wouldn’t dismiss the thought.

Yuta was, to his surprise, completely by himself and leaning back against one of the heavy beams which seemed to be one of the supports for the tent, one of his hands curled around a cup that he hadn’t taken one sip from since they’d arrived. His expression appeared to be considerably dark tonight.

Even though Yuta had never been blatant about his true nature he’d never really hidden it either, other than often allowing the dark waves of his hair to cover his ears — even that was just a stylistic choice, Taemin assumed. So no, he never hid it, but he’d never showed it off as he did now. Like they all were. That mess of dark hair was pulled back away from his face, save for a few strands which fell into his face and framed his features, tied back low to accentuate the sharper edge to his ears; the sides were cropped much shorter, perhaps only an inch or two longer than his scalp. The jacket he wore was similar to Mark’s in the fact it was cropped to his waist, and it was also black, but that’s about where the similarities ended. It wasn’t buttoned up at all and there was no shirt underneath to hide tanned skin, pants low enough to draw attention to the v of his hips — the inside of the jacket seemed to be a luxe red that caught the eye whenever he moved, something he’d seen in a few of Sicheng’s outfits. How . . . interesting.

One thing he hadn’t been able to help but to notice was that every few minutes at least Taeyong’s eyes would flicker to the main table, not to look at Sicheng or even any of the leaders up there but rather the boy sitting at Lady Liu’s feet; each time without fail his expression would flicker into something displeased. Taemin certainly couldn’t blame him. The boy looked fairly young and unlike the other servants who seemed to be hiding their anger of fear, Lady Liu’s little pet for the night looked downright furious, glaring at her whenever he could and pointedly moving away whenever she reached down to pet his hair like he was little more than a dog. At one point he hissed something that made Lady Liu laugh despite the fact his words were dripping with malice — Taemin more so focused on the fact his words were spoken in an all too familiar language.

Sometimes he wished Taeyong wasn’t such a bleeding heart, but then again it was one of the things he (unfortunately) loved about the other.

“Taemin?”

“Yes, darling?”

The white-haired male tilted his chin up with an expression that was likely supposed to present as something even and casual but Taemin could see the cogs that were turning in his head. Gods help him. “You’ve been here before, right?” A nod. “You’re familiar with the whole ‘blood demands blood’ thing, right?” Taemin offered a small sigh in response but still nodded. “How does it—“

Taeyong didn’t get a chance to finish his question, though, not when a commotion was breaking out across the room. Instinctively he drew the younger male closer to his side and sought out the others in the crowd, accounting for everyone save for— ah. Yuta. Somehow, Taemin wasn’t overly surprised; Yuta had looked like a man on a mission all night, albeit a mission that even Taemin wasn’t quite sure of. That being said, it wasn’t exactly common for him to go around doing things like this, picking fights, especially on a night such as this.

There were four people — as a guess he’d say four men of varying heights and statures —crowded around the dark-haired fae and shouting, some throwing punches, but Yuta was too fast for any of them, dodging it all with a wide grin that was the furthest thing from friendly and fury burning in his eyes that caught Taemin off guard. One of the figures went stumbling to the ground before whipping something out of a black and green coat and lunging at Yuta again.

Taemin _knew_ that Yuta could’ve moved before the blow landed. There was no way he could’ve been caught off guard by it, none at all, yet instead the other purposefully turned a little so that the prohibited blade grazed his thigh and cut through not only the material of his pants, but also the flesh underneath; not a serious wound, but not a graze by any means either. At first, it was a thin red line bordered by some exposed flesh and shredded material, and then it grew darker and started dripping blood down his thigh.

Yuta grinned. Part of Taemin was impressed, the rest worried and mildly irritated.

“There’s supposed to be no weapons,” he heard Sicheng loudly hiss as everyone else rose and Taeyong rushed forward to deal with the situation. No weapons, certainly, but apparently that hadn’t applied to Lady Liu’s people. No weapons, but Yuta didn’t need them to stop all four of the attackers with a single flick of his wrist, all of them bound by an invisible sort of force and spitting curses, save for the one who’d realised what he’d just done and what his actions would invoke. Taemin doubted that his Lady’s wrath would be pleasant.

“There isn’t. What happened?” Lady Liu asked as she finally stood and turned her attention away from her attendants, flawless features schooled into a mask which barely masked the rage and irritation bubbling underneath her skin.

“I was simply defending my host’s honour, My Lady — such uncouth things they were saying. I’m sure you can understand that I had to speak up when I heard them sharing unwanted opinions about Lord Sicheng.” Yuta’s tone was utterly saccharine and did nothing to hide his displeasure even if it was accompanied by blatantly insincere respect — for her, at least. “Unfortunately your men weren’t interested in learning some manners and turned on me rather quickly.” With an exhale, all four were released from his grip and dropped down to scamper away without quite daring to run to their master for protection. Taemin doubted that was the exact story, but he’d observed enough over the last few weeks to come to his own conclusions. Yuta’s fierce respect for Sicheng was no secret, nor his . . . admiration, for lack of a better word.

“Is this true?” She snapped. Sharp eyes whipped around to her men and they cowered under her gaze.

“I— yes, but he threatened to cut out our tongues!”

“But I didn’t,” Yuta pointed out, “I think everyone can testify I never set a finger on you.”

_/“Don’t you worry about me,” Taeyong chuckled as he slipped on his shirt and pressed warm lips to Taemin’s collarbone as they got ready. “No one play mind games better than fae.”/_

Well, apparently he’d been right; at that moment Taemin couldn’t be more relieved that Yuta was a friend.

He watched as Sicheng’s eyes widened ever so slightly in a faint hint of recognition as to what was going on as he stared at Yuta before schooling his expression once more and gracefully easing himself back into his seat. Perhaps he even looked satisfied with the ongoings. One of the tigers — Ping, he gathered from the slightly broader head — nudged against his palm and flicked his tail in discontent as Dao curled at his feet with a rumble. They were truly a stunning sight, and a good deterrent since everyone seemed to avoid venturing near Sicheng, save for Kun.

“Will their heads suffice?” The dark-haired women spoke sharply after a few moments of agitated consideration. Sicheng’s lips twitched ever so slightly before shrugging.

“It’s not me who’s owed blood. They’re under my protection, but Yuta is fae and has sworn his services to Taeyong.” Sicheng looked across the fire to where they were standing and arched a brow. “What will you have, then?"

Taemin’s eyes wandered to his side, glancing down to try and gauge Taeyong’s reaction to this and discern whether it’d been part of the plan from the start, but for once he found that he couldn’t read him. It was almost worrying how quickly Taeyong had been able to adjust himself to the world he’d been thrust into, but Taemin knew that at the base of it he simply hadn’t been allowed a choice in the matter — he’d had to adjust or it’d consume him completely. One hand reached out to settle over his own and the younger male let out a faint hum as though he was deep in thought.

The white-haired fae wasn’t capable of projecting his own thoughts like Taemin could but dropping his own wards was easier than breathing, and Taemin liked to think that the other had no fear in doing so, that he knew that no matter how vulnerable he left himself he had nothing to worry about with Taemin by his side. It was far too easy to search for what the younger was contemplating.

Sometimes Taemin lamented the fact he’d fallen in love with selfless men — like now. He permitted himself a very subtle sigh.

 _/I’ve seen people demand a whole bloodline for a small nick — blood demands blood, but no one ever thought to clarify how much,/_ he explained reluctantly. As much as he wanted to be irritated by Taeyong’s plan, he couldn’t be.

“I don’t see the point of wasting lives is, but if lives are what is owed . . .” Taeyong finally spoke up after he squeezed Taemin’s hand once last time and took an independent step forward with his head raised high, picture-perfect confidence that demanded attention effortlessly. His eyes shifted around the room quizzically but it was no surprise (to him, at least) when they came to a stop on the boy by Lady Liu’s feet. “What’s your name?”

There was no subservience in the sharp, cold look that the boy returned, only carefully-restrained anger and resistance. When no answer came, his master clicked her tongue and his body seemed to seize a little. “Jeno,” he finally gritted out through clenched teeth as he shot her a positively murderous look. Once his eyes wandered from Lady Liu they seemed to search the crowd with thinly-veiled desperation, looking for someone, something, like that was all that mattered even though his very life seemed to be on the line in that moment; he seemed to find it in a young boy with shaggy brown hair who was pale where he was being encouraged to pour drinks for some guests. Despite the fact his lips were split in multiple places and there was a heavy, greying bruise on his jaw and throat, people seemed to flock to his natural beauty.

“I could use an attendant for myself,” Taeyong declared and crooked his finger. By the gods, it was worth it just to see the way Lady Liu almost let her mask slip to showcase that rage boiling underneath when Taeyong declared that he wanted her pet rather than the blood of some lowly disciple who would likely have no bearing on her. Taemin doubted that she cared for the boy in any regard, but it wasn’t about that — it was about ownership. The boy, Jeno, had been her toy. Evidently she didn’t like sharing.

“Very well.” Her fingers twitched as she motioned for two of her people to drag Jeno up by his shoulders and lead him forward to Taeyong but he was the furthest thing from compliant, not that Taemin could blame him; he dug his heels in and kicked and thrashed, spewing curses at them in their native language, one these people didn’t understand, kicking up a big fuss.

“Let _go_ of me, you can’t just— this wasn’t the deal! I’m not going—“

Taeyong’s hand darted out lightning fast to lay his palm ever so gently over the younger’s cheek in a gentle, reassuring touch. For a split moment, the boy opened his mouth to argue and wrench away only for his body to go still, and then . . . then he relaxed, staring at Taeyong in wonder and understanding. Hesitant relief, even. Taemin attempted to offer a reassuring glance from where he stood.

The only thing more satisfying than seeing Lady Liu lose her toy was seeing her bitterness as Taeyong appeared to tame said defiant pet with a mere touch. If tonight was supposed to be one big pissing contest then, well, it was undeniable they were winning by a mile.

The thing was, Taemin had seen more women like Lady Liu than he could ever hope to count or recall because in the end none of them were truly spectacular or noteworthy. She was undeniably stunning, certainly powerful, but she was human, and beyond that, the darkness inside her was not just an extension of her magic but a disease, something twisted and bitter that rotted away at her very core. Women like her desired everything yet were satisfied by nothing; it was never enough. Her pride and jealousy would be her downfall.

“If my Master would allow me,” Jeno spoke in carefully measured words, “I would ask a favour of him.”

“Of course.” He whispered words that even Taemin couldn’t hear into the fae’s ear before pulling back and obediently standing by his side. Jeno was only human, yet he had more nerve than anyone in this room to stare directly into the eyes of the beast that longed to devour him. If she couldn’t have him, no doubt she despised the fact of anyone else having him too.

“Perhaps your subordinate could be the one to lay claim next, given that it was his blood that was shed tonight,” Lady Liu proposed with faux-sympathy and consideration as she reclined back in her seat. She’d composed herself to a degree but there was no denying she’d lost that cocky confidence she’d been wearing all night — perhaps not as much as she should have. “If his Majesty so agrees, of course.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, My Lady.” Taeyong had seemingly achieved what he’d been aiming for, after all, considering that he’d managed to upstage their host and rightfully steal her toy from right underneath her nose with no room for her to argue. It’d be no loss to allow Yuta a favour even if that’d likely been her goal. “Do you have an idea of what you’d like as recompense, Yuta?”

The dark-haired fae grinned from where he’d been healing up the gash on his thigh and let the magic he’d raised die back down into a low, comfortable simmer as he tapped his chin. Oddly enough, Taemin felt like Yuta already knew what he wanted.

“Well, I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face,” he mused playfully as he wiped the blood on his hands on his pants and started to move through the crowd. Most people cleared a path for the fae without any prompting whatsoever, but those who bore green and gold practically scampered away whenever he ventured near, including any attendants who Lady Liu had brought with her to entertain their company. Some seemed to be exactly that, but others . . . well, Taemin knew how these things went. That some of them had no say if someone wanted them to share their bed for a night.

“This one, I think.” Taemin had no doubt this wasn’t a coincidence — there was no way that the boy Jeno had been glancing at earlier, the one that was mildly battered, was the one that Yuta had randomly selected. It was slightly surprising for a few moments before he realised that if he’d noticed some sort of connection between the pair then of course Yuta likely had, too. The fact that Jeno didn’t start a riot again despite the obvious fear that flickered across his companion’s features as he reluctantly took Yuta’s hand only reaffirmed the fact that, somehow, this was planned. Taemin figured this was probably a consequence of whatever favour he’d whispered into Taeyong’s ear.

Lady Liu let out a quiet sigh that still rang across the space and drummed her fingers on the table with a perfect little smile. “While we’re on the topic of being owed, I think we have some other issues to address. Two of my people say they were unjustly confined and that the third was killed before they were released — don’t I deserve some recompense for such an act?”

Someone let out a disbelieving snort that was just shy of a bark — Sicheng. All of that faux-compliance he’d been maintaining throughout the night faded away as the candles around them flickered from an intangible wind; the shadows seemed to darken a little and a few people shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “Recompense? I was well within my rights to hold them when they wandered into _my_ territory unannounced, and I was also within my rights to kill the man who dared raise a hand against me.”

“Did he?” She pestered. ”You see, you don’t have the best record of having witnesses to these supposed attempts on your life, Lord Sicheng — how are we supposed to believe you?” This time, Taemin did feel the wind that whipped through the tent, as well as the current of magic tied to it.

“My Lord doesn’t make a habit of lying.” Kun. He looked a little older where he stood next to Sicheng, features strained and uncomfortable and he certainly couldn’t meet Lady Liu’s gaze, but there was no tremble to his voice. “Many of us were present, including some of our guests. You can ask their account if you’re not convinced.”

“Still fighting his battles for him after all these years, Kun? It’s such a shame. You could do so much . . . _better_.”

“ _Don’t speak to him_.” It was a rare thing, he garnered, for Sicheng to allow his true emotions to rise to the surface. He barely raised his voice yet his words still flowed from his mouth in a half snarl that had his tigers letting out echoing growls, his features pinched into an expression that couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than hateful; the rage in his tone and face was utterly palpable, dripping from every inch of his body, almost cloying in the way it filled the room. “Don’t even _look_ at him, _Liu Daiyu_. You have no right to lay your filthy eyes on him after everything you’ve done.”

There was deafening silence for one long moment before the room erupted into a catastrophe of noise, angered shouts and disbelief and rage, the rise of magic and weapons as the tension that’d been brewing for much longer than they’d known finally started to boil over.

“How dare you speak to her that way?” one of her guards seethed as she drew a blade from seemingly nowhere — magic. So much for no weapons. “Show some respect—“

“Would you show respect to a wretched snake that was rearing to strike?” Sicheng mocked, “or would you kill it first?” Out of the corner of one eye he watched as Lucas carefully shifted forward through the mass as everyone was distracted to usher Jeno and the other boy back out of the fray, giving Taemin a small, nervous nod of his head. He’d never thought of himself as naive, but even so, he couldn’t deny he’d been naively hoping that tonight wouldn’t end like this — that somehow they’d find another way.

“For Kun, Dejun . . . blood demands blood, remember? You taught me that better than anyone, Daiyu.”

One of the tigers lunged forward and sunk its teeth into the throat of the guard who stepped forward to strike, and then it was chaos.

-

“Mark, _listen to me_.” For once in his life, there was no playful tilt to Baekhyun’s tone as he herded the boys over towards one of the fabric walls and hunkered them down. “Stay here and look out for them, okay? Low profile.” The idea of loving the younger male’s side right now was almost unbearable but he knew he had to — Mark wasn’t a little kid anymore, he was a knight, a great fighter, and he could protect himself. And others.

Their goal tonight wasn’t even a victory, per se; above all, it was just for everyone to get out unharmed and, most importantly, alive.

All of the Lieshou had already joined the fray save for Dejun — though he had lost that metal mask on his way over and subsequently a lot of his nerve. He didn’t look like a seasoned warrior at that moment, just . . . scared. The sort of scared that was more than skin deep, the sort that you took one look at and knew was born from unimaginable torment, the sort he’d been struggling to fight back all night. “Look after Mark for me,” he breathed out as he squeezed he other male’s shoulder even though they all knew Mark didn’t need anyone watching their back.

“I have to help—“

“You’re still injured,” Baekhyun insisted. “You’re unarmed. This isn’t about pride — the best you can do is stay here and make sure they’re safe.”

That being said, it would’ve been nice to have another able body by his side. Baekhyun wasn’t like them. He didn’t have magic. Back home it’d never been much of a problem before considering that each kingdom had shifting stances on magic and he’d only ever experienced a handful of magic before them with diluted abilities, but this wasn’t home; this was a place where magic was abundant.

They had no allies here. The man who’s nose he’d smashed with his elbow before stealing away his sword (not an ideal weapon for him by any means, but it was certainly better than nothing, at least) had worn Lady Liu’s colours, but the woman that almost hit him with a literal fireball was wearing muddied grey and blue. Thin lips pulled into a sneer as he just barely ducked out of the way and he responded with a twist of his own lips that mimicked some sort of smile. “Come on, I _really_ don’t want to have to fight a pretty lady.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” she hissed as though he’d been implying it was pity making him reluctant. Ah well, can’t please them all, right? The pale-haired lady lunged forward with flames licking her fingers but he was quick to sidestep and jam the pommel of the sword into her sternum with such force that she instantly wheezed and buckled to the ground, scrambling to try and regain her breath.

“Scram.” Baekhyun could’ve killed her, but what was the point? She was merely following the orders of someone higher up.

The very ground seemed to rumble and the flames in the centre of the tent roared with vigour as a screaming figure was tossed into them without mercy. Baekhyun could barely even think over the symphony of metal and screams and shouts but he tried to centre himself as he struck another man down and searched for familiar faces. Jongin was somewhere to his left with Lucas who, while he was definitely himself, seemed to be using a little bit of that _other_ to help keep them from being overwhelmed. He couldn’t see Yuta or Taemin, or Ten, anywhere but Taeyong was with the Lieshou, providing cover more than anything and deflecting all of the magical attacks being directed their way with ease even if it didn’t give him much chance to actually fight back; effectively he was their shield. Occasionally he could pick up on the roar or snarl of a tiger.

He could just barely make out a large, swirling black mass that dominated the space across the room and he knew that had to be Sicheng.

What in the world had they gotten themselves into?

The scream that filled the air was . . . Baekhyun wasn’t sure that such a haunting noise could ever truly be communicated in words, but it was the sort of noise that was _wrong_ , the sort that made every hair on your body stand on end. It was a base human response to the noise of something _other than human_ , something that shouldn’t be able to come from human vocal cords, something filled with a rage that chilled him to the very core. To put it simply, it scared the shit out of him.

Baekhyun’s heart lurched in his chest as the air around them went deathly still and every hint of light within the tent disappeared; it wasn’t dark like the never-ending darkness that came each night where your eyes adjusted and could make out faint details eventually regardless, but rather the sort of dark that was all-consuming. The sort that children imagined in the empty spaces under their beds or in their closets, darkness that could only be filled with all manner of monsters.

Four long seconds that seemed to stretch on forever in that void before a faint glow began to rise from the darkness and illuminate just enough for him to see somewhat clearly. Around him, everything was frozen. Faces stilled in expressions of rage and desperation with their bodies balancing in ways that weren’t natural or plausible. The flames in the centre of the room were completely frozen in place and, perhaps even more frightening, emitted no light whatsoever. Just shapes. Baekhyun, too, stood stock-still where he was without any movement but his chest rose and fell, the fear that’d clawed its way over him firmly in control until warm hands shook his shoulders and the muddy shape in front of him became apparent as Ten.

The warlock was exceptionally frazzled and there was a desperate sort of look in his eyes but the pounding in Baekhyun’s skull drowned out the hurried words that were spoken to him as Ten dragged him through the maze of frozen bodies. It was as though time itself was standing still at that moment.

“ _What is going on_?” Taemin rasped as he stumbled into view, unusually dishevelled and with Kunhang and Yangyang in tow, eyes frantic and wide.

“We need to go now, we’ve only got a little time,” Ten stressed rather than answering. Everyone was gathering by the exit, all of them looking a little worse for wear but not majorly wounded in any way; the last to appear were Yuta and Sicheng, the former bleeding from his shoulder that he had angled in a way that looked wrong and dragging the latter along with two battered tigers in tow. “Out. _Out!_ ”

Stepping out into the tranquil night air where the trees still swayed with a faint breeze and crickets could be heard in the difference was like stepping into another world entirely. The moon hung high in the sky and shone down on them, flickering torches illuminating the immediate area which quickly faded from view as they stumbled through the forest.

Someone wheezed and he heard a stumble behind them. “Wait,” Sicheng gritted out in a hoarse tone that trembled as he spoke. The last thing Baekhyun wanted to do was stop as he heard a furious scream far off in the distance but it seemed to be a group decision to pause for just a moment.

Baekhyun wasn’t cruel — he did feel sympathetic when he turned to see the man crouching over one of the tigers who had fallen and seemingly couldn’t get back up on its feet; they both looked like a mess, caked in so much blood that he wasn’t quite sure what was theirs and what was from their enemies, but there were plenty of visible wounds too. The one on the ground certainly seemed to have taken the brunt of it. There was a missing chunk out of one ear and nasty gashes over its face as well as a gaping wound visible through the blood-mangled fur of its abdomen.

“I’ll carry him,” Lucas rasped quickly as he hurried over but Taemin put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“It’ll slow us down. Besides, even you can’t carry an adult tiger, Lucas.”

Sicheng looked utterly manic as his head whipped around. His eyes were endless caverns of pain and rage, desperation, burning right into his soul. “I won’t leave him! I— he’ll be fine, if we can just get him back to the house he’ll be fine.” Everyone knew he wouldn’t be fine. Even now the tiger's breathing was ragged and barely visible in the faintest rise of his chest, eyes glassy and unfocused as the other one nosed at its temple.

Yuta dropped to the ground beside Sicheng and grabbed his hands to pull them away from where he was trying to heal with his magic — Sicheng’s magic wouldn’t do any good, though. It was made to destroy, not to heal. “Just trust me,” he begged even through a pained grimace. “You won’t lose Ping — I swear. Get the portal ready.”

Other than Taeyong, none of them had truly seen Yuta’s magic at work before; sure there’d been little things here and there like the crow that they still didn’t quite understand to the fullest and what one could class as parlour tricks here and there like starting fires, but his true specialities, they knew, lied in magic that he’d never truly shown. The dark-haired fae sucked in a deep, ragged breath and set his hands ever so gently over Ping’s furred torso, one sliding up to scratch behind his ears before he bowed over and rested his forehead against striped fur. At first, there was nothing — then the forest seemed to come alive. The branches in the trees down to the very trunks seemed to creak, leaves swaying more than the wind permitted; the crickets grew almost deafening and the grass around them rippled in a way only magic could explain. Ever so slowly tendrils of what seemed like vines (or maybe roots?) started to break through the dirt and grass to gently brush over the tiger’s body, seeking out wounds before they found what, presumably, was the worst.

It was disturbing but Baekhyun couldn’t look away. The vines seemed to fill the space that was empty and mend what was broken, taking place of muscles and organ and flesh before crisscrossing to seal the wound and knit torn skin back together. The whole thing took less than a minute yet it felt infinitely longer. Despite the fact the injury looked healed, Ping still laid prone on the ground and his chest no longer rose and fell. The tiger's eyes were void of any sign of life.

And then Yuta dug his own fingers into the wound on his shoulder to bring forth a fresh wave of blood gathered it in his hand and let it trickle into Ping’s mouth.

It only took a few seconds for the tiger to rise from the ground, ears flicking in content as it butted against Yuta’s good shoulder and helped right him a little.

“Yuta—“ he started with a step towards the fae. Before he could get much closer he stood and shook off the glazed look in his eyes, stepping past them all to where Sicheng was standing with wide eyes and stepping one foot through the swirling shadows.

“Get through the portal before they get here. Whatever happened has already worn off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _“Why would you help us, Zitao? You could’ve just as easily caused our deaths.”_
> 
> _The tall, dark-haired male let his lips curl into a secretive smile and his eyes grew impossibly darker as he leant back against the stone wall. “It wasn’t the will of the gods.”_
> 
> _Ten couldn’t help the irritation that flickered across his own features. “You really believe that? That they’re real, that you know them?”_
> 
> _“I’m surprised you don’t, considering how well they know you.” ___


	19. chapter nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whilst their new guests settle in Ten learns more about the history behind everything, and Taemin finds himself backed into a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a little late, I'll try and get the next one out much quicker! We're really on the home stretch now ahhHHHH
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and doing well.
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- the usual lol  
> \- mentions of human trafficking, slavery, everything dubious that comes with that, but rather mild in this chapter   
> \- moderate but brief descriptions of torture etc  
> \- angst in general lol  
> \- manipulation

Mark couldn’t put last night into words; hell, he’d been there and he still couldn’t even get his mind around what had gone down. He wasn’t sure any of them actually knew all the facts of what had occurred. It was jarring, somehow, not to be able to go to Taemin for the answers.

He was sure of a few things, though. One: it hadn’t gone to plan.

Two: no matter the fact it mightn’t have been the smartest move strategically, Mark was so glad that Taeyong and Yuta had pulled the tricks hey had to get the boys (Jeno and Jaemin, he now knew) out of that. It wasn’t like he’d never known about slave traders before — he’d seen it all too well with his own eyes and once helped Jongin trick some so they could free Ten — but something about these two was different. Two boys around his own age that were from his own country who’d been stolen away when they were barely teenagers and had been whisked halfway across the world to be the source of some noble's entertainment. Somehow, despite all that, they’d managed to hold desperately onto each other. 

Jeno had often been put to work with manual labour, even as a youth, whilst Jaemin had been given finer tasks, but they’d never faced horrors such as the ones presented to them in Lady Liu’s court. His heart had twisted in his chest hearing what they’d endured during the dark hours of the morning as he’d used some minor remedies from Taeyong’s kit to tend to their injuries.

“Lady Liu likes her men big and strong,” Jaemin had chuckled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes as he stifled back a yawn. Even now, in the safety of Weishen House, he never strayed from Jeno’s side. “I’m not too bad but she took a shine to Jeno.”

“She’s used to getting what she wants,” the latter mumbled in response. He was in much better condition physically than Jaemin, though that wasn’t hard considering all the bruises and such the younger male was sporting. “Jaemin tried to keep her off my back but she ended up just having her men beat him until I agreed to be her pet.”

No one so young should have to go through such things. It was easy for Mark to forget that he wasn’t much older than them, a year at most, probably.

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore, I swear.” Jeno offered a tired yet obviously trusting smile that creased his eyes and made him look far softer but Jaemin pursed his lips and nodded. “There’s not really a shortage of rooms so get some rest, okay? I can show you around when you wake up and we can talk about what you’d like to do next.”

“Why would they waste their bargains on freeing us?” Jaemin’s voice didn’t give much away in terms of what he was implying or imagining but Mark could understand why the other would be sceptical of the validity of what they’d been told. He doubted they’d been able to doubt anyone other than each other for a very, very long time.

All Mark could do was smile as he set the small bottle of pain relief down and nudged it closer before packing everything else up. “Taeyong’s just . . . like that. There was nothing else she could’ve given him that he would’ve wanted — and Yuta?” That was a bit harder. “He’s a good man, too, and I think he just really enjoyed pissing Lady Liu off.”

“Whatever their motives,” Jeno reassured, “we’re grateful. I owe him everything.”

Mark had barely managed to take two steps down the hall once he’d left the room the pair was in before he was accosted. Okay, maybe _accosted_ was too strong of a word, but gods, he was so tired, and as much as he loved Renjun and Chenle all he wanted to do right now was check up on everyone and get some much-needed sleep while he could.

“Is everyone okay?

“Is it true that you brought people back?

“No one will tell us anything or let us in— is she gone?”

“What happened?”

Mark’s temples throbbed again and he let out a frustrated sigh through his nose before holding up a hand. They must have caught onto the exhaustion blatantly plastered across his features, or just realised he wasn’t really able to process all their questions right now, because they did quiet down. “Everyone’s okay, don’t worry.” Ping was seemingly fine and Yuta was hurt the worst but still okay— Sicheng was okay _physically_ but he wasn’t about to tell them that he seemed a little unhinged. “We’ve got guests, yeah, but you can annoy them later after they’ve had some rest. It . . .” he trailed off. “It was a mess. I don’t know. I can’t really think.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Renjun asked a little softer with a furrow between his brows. Instinctively he wanted to clam up and put on a front — to say he was fine. Instead, he tried to force some of the tightness from his chest and focused on filling his lungs with air when they started to burn.

Mark shrugged with minimal effort. “It was a lot. I was scared. I still don’t know what really happened.” He’d never really had friends who weren’t, in turn, his lovers, nor friends that were so close in age, but it was _nice_ to have friends who pulled him into a hug and made sure he didn’t keel over on the way back to his room so that he could get some rest.

“I should check on—“

Chenle clicked his tongue. “No, you should sleep. We’ll help get everything sorted.” Mark had wanted to argue, he really had, but in truth, he simply didn’t have the energy to at that moment — instead he weakly pushed open the door to his room and let it click shut behind him; it felt impossibly good to get out of the outfit he’d had plastered on him all night. Unwinding wasn’t easy but it helped that Baekhyun took one look at him and made space on his own bed so that he could crawl under the blankets and cocoon himself in warm arms. He wasn’t sure who needed that contact and reassurance more, really, because Baekhyun clung to him just as desperately and hid his face in his hair.

“Hyung?”

“Mmm.”

“Tell me everything is going to be okay?” Baekhyun let out a soft little sigh against the top of his head and then pressed a kiss there.

“Everything will be okay, Mark. I promise.”

—

“Kun,” Ten breathed tightly as he rubbed a hand over the other’s back, “you can’t blame yourself for this — we all knew what we were getting into last night. We knew it wouldn’t be peaceful.” The older male simply shook his head and hung it down even lower. Ten had only gotten two or so hours of rest before he’d been up again and had stumbled across Kun sitting isolated on the steps of Weishen. To say he looked desolate somehow felt like an understatement; whatever was weighing on his shoulder was no small matter.

“You don’t understand.” His voice was barely even audible and cracked twice. The warlock’s chest seized a little and he forced down a grimace as his hand slipped so he could wrap an arm around the blond instead and lean into his side. Kun was right — he didn’t.

“So make me understand.” Ten _knew t_ hat it was easier said than done, okay? But he also knew from personal experience that keeping such painful things bottled up inside you would always be a recipe for disaster, even if you thought you were doing the right thing — even if you felt you had no claim to that pain. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me think less of you.” Kun scoffed and fell silent for aminute.

“I’ve always been strong for them, Ten — that’s my job. That’s what I told myself, at least, but I think deep down it was to hide my own shortcomings, too. They looked up to me. Relied on me. I . . . I didn’t want to fail them— gods, that was the last thing I wanted.”

“You _didn’t_ , Kun. You haven’t failed the—.”

“But I _have_.” Kun’s head snapped up and though there were no tears yet his eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with unbridled agony as he met Ten’s gaze. “Over and over again, I’ve done nothing but fail them, Ten. I failed Yukhei when I sent him away even if I thought I was doing the best thing for him; I failed them when I let Liu Daiyu sink her nails into me all those years ago and didn’t realise she was using me against them; I failed Sicheng that night when I wasn’t there to take the fall for him; I failed Dejun by letting him go out that day alone and last night I— gods, I failed them again because I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t just _stand up to her_. No matter how hard I try I can’t protect them from the world like I thought I could. Look at the burden Yukhei bears. Look at all Sicheng has gone through — the things he’s had to do to protect us, _me_. The things he’s sacrificed. Look at that Dejun has endured. Yangyang and Kunhang, the things they’ve had to see and do, the things I’ve had them do because I can’t fight beside them anymore—“

Kun cut off with a choked, haunted noise and looked away as he pressed his face into his hands, body trembling with each breath he seemed to be struggling to bring in. “Kun . . .”

“I thought having her favour all those years ago would keep us safe so I never questioned it, even when I had doubts. She took _everything_ from . . .”

“From you,” Ten surmised quietly. There was a fierce rage curling in his gut even as he tried to soothe his friend, one that demanded blood, _her blood_. They’d all suffered so tragically at the hands of one pathetic excuse for a woman that had revelled in their pain, and that in itself was something he’d never forgive; he was half-human, yes, but sometimes even he was capable of forgetting what laid in wait within the rest of his blood. Ten would always believe in equal exchange — not the bastardised version that Lady Liu twisted to her own benefit but _true_ exchange, just like magic. A day would come, soon, where the world would demand its recompense and collect the debt she’d gathered. He ached to be the collector.

“I don’t know if I loved her, not the way she wanted, but I admired and respected the woman she let me believe she was. I craved her attention, her approval. I would’ve done anything for her, except . . .” It didn’t take a genius to be able to fill in the blanks. Kun’s family would always be his first priority. “One of the apprentices had gone missing — he was only young, maybe eleven? Sicheng couldn’t find him anywhere, but I did,” Kun admitted. “If I’d known she was dealing with slave traders I never would’ve— gods, when I found out it was too late but I confronted her. I was so confused and angry and I demanded answers and she just _laughed_ and told her people to deal with me, like I was nothing to her, like I’d been nothing but her toy the whole time, something to fill her time and give her information.”

Ten knew, from whispers he’d heard here and there, that Kun was more than worthy of his title as Sicheng’s right hand and the leader of his Lieshou. That once upon a time he’d been the fiercest warrior any of them had ever seen and that he’d been unmatched with a blade. That, now, even when he was training others his injuries from an unexplained incident played up, that sometimes he’d be bedridden for days with agonising pain.

“She drank and laughed with her attendants while they shattered my legs. People I’d thought of as friends were indifferent to my screams. They dumped me, bloody and broken, at Sicheng’s feet and claimed it was recompense for betraying her trust — he couldn’t even strike back.” Alongside the rage, there was pain and sympathy, as well as a sickness that made bile rise up in his throat so quick that he only just managed to swallow it back down. “Even with magic, it took me weeks to be able to stand and support my own weight. Months to walk unassisted. Years, and I still can’t fight as I could; they still ache if I take the stairs too many times or if it’s cold.”

Ten swallowed thickly and moved to squeeze Kun’s hand and guide them free from his face. “Maybe if Taeyong had a look at them?”

“He can’t fix it.” Kun sounded so sure. “After the first few breaks, she healed them. Over and over again. Even when Sicheng started my legs were partially healed in ways that was completely unnatural — he had to break them _again_ to set them as right as he could.”

Ten would make her scream as Kun had. Would rip every bone from her body while she was awake and watching if given the chance, make sure she felt _everything_ before he even considered allowing her to die. Death was too good for her. Too peaceful.

“He might be able to help reduce the pain, still. He was a healer before he was ever fae,” Ten insisted. Anything to help would be an improvement.

A sigh. “Maybe.” It was better than a flat-out rejection so Ten would consider it as a win for now.

“You don’t see your own strength the way we do, Kun. It doesn’t make you weak that you trusted the wrong people enough to be betrayed and hurt by them, it only speaks of your heart. You are a _good_ _man_ , and even if you think they don’t, they need you. They rely on you.”

“Not Sicheng.” Kun shook his head. “He doesn’t confide in me any more — he doesn’t trust any of us, not like he used to. I don’t know how to help him when Zitao is constantly whispering poison in his ear.” The warlock pursed his lips and let his brows pull into a small furrow as he looked away. Zitao. The man was truly quite the mystery but Ten had already decided that he didn’t like him in the slightest.

“Was that him, last night?” It hadn’t been Taemin nor either of the fae, and it hadn’t been Sicheng, but it was someone who’d aided them. That magic . . . it wasn’t demonic in nature nor fae, either. The signature behind it was familiar in the way that he felt like he’d experienced something similar, once, something very faint, but he couldn’t put a name or specific memory to it. The blond male nodded and stared out at the forest past the crops.

“Sicheng figured it out himself, how to do what he does, but it was never . . . it’s not like there are books on this sort of thing, you know? There was a limit to what he could learn and therefore do. When Zitao returned, that changed. I’ve been by his side no matter what, always been faithful, gods, I was the one who held him when—“ Kun cut himself off and gritted his teeth together as something pained flickered across his features. “Sicheng isn’t himself, Ten. I don’t know whether it’s what he’s been doing but I know Zitao is behind it all and Sicheng won’t listen to me, because Zitao is there at every step whispering in his ear and helping him go further. He’s going to get him killed and I still don’t even know what he wants.”

“I won’t let that happen, Kun.” There was a fierce determination laced in Ten’s words despite the softness of his words as he pulled the other back in and let Kun cling to him like a child, patting down his back and rocking them slightly. He didn’t mention the dampness that started to reach his shoulder. “I give you my word.”

When Ten had set off on his journey across the seas the last thing he’d been expecting was for the small family he’d carefully allowed himself to be a part of to grow; if you’d told him that he’d find himself willing to risk himself for anyone other than his lovers he would’ve laughed. It was preposterous. Ten had _never_ been quick to trust, but these people . . . they were so _good_. He’d never had people like this in his life, whether it was those who almost felt like younger siblings in the way Yangyang and Kunhang would harass him at all hours, often with Renjun and Chenle on their heals, or the way Dejun would always rise to the challenge when he found himself teasing the other. Even Sicheng had found a spot in his heart, too, because he didn’t see the monster he’d first feared, but rather a man who was willing to do _anything_ for those he loved, even become something irredeemable.

They’d accepted him, too. Had taken one look at him, had realised that he cared for Lucas, and that had been enough to gain the beginnings of their trust.

They were _his_ , now.

Ten was still exhausted and depleted from last night but he still ignored the way he could feel the pressure in his nose and taste iron as his magic lashed out and pinned the tall, dark-clad figure to the wall with enough force to make the lanterns above shake. Rather than seeming scared, Zitao just laughed and rested his head back as Ten stared him down.

“What are you up to? What _are_ you?” Zitao felt completely and utterly humanlike this and his magic found nothing as it crept around his body that suggested any sort of incredible power or ability, yet Ten knew that wasn’t true. For one, the man could manifest a different form. That took _power_. Two, he knew more about magic than he let one. Then there was last night. That . . . it still made his hair stand on end at the mere thought of it.

“Did Kun put you up to this?” The man sighed as though he was resigned. “Such a shame, I thought last night would’ve eased his doubts.”

“Why would you help us, Zitao? You could’ve just as easily caused our deaths.”

The tall, dark-haired male let his lips curl into a secretive smile and his eyes grew impossibly darker as he leant back against the stone wall. “It wasn’t the will of the Gods.”

Ten couldn’t help the irritation that flickered across his own features. “You really believe that? That they’re real, that you know them?”

“I’m surprised you _don’t_ , considering how well they know you.”

His body froze and his magic wavered just enough for the invisible force keeping Zitao against the wall to ease and let him relax, something cold and empty settling in his gut. “Stop talking in riddles. There are no gods, Huang ZItao, certainly not anymore — maybe once upon a time there were other beings who held power but they’re as good as children’s tales these days.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Zitao’s eyes were impossibly dark, just as his entire being was, but they seemed to shine in the dim lighting as the flames in surrounding lanterns flickers and leapt with an intangible wind. “You think gods are beings who exist separate from our world and care nothing for what happens? For what we do? Perhaps there are few that have survived to this age but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, Ten. You’ve seen them. _You’ve_ _felt them._ You know I’m right.”

He tried to ignore it — the flicker of recognition and memories being brought to the front of his mind even when he tried to force them down. The heavy thrum of power in the air around an ancient mountain and the rumble of stone underfoot. A shrine. A shining, golden stone and the wave of power that’d almost sent him reeling. A man with no magic in his blood being gifted with prophecies. A little old lady with clouded eyes who’d known his name — not just his name, but his birth name, one that hadn’t been uttered out loud since he was a toddler.

“I know that even if you’ve done good, you’re up to something and that you’re dragging Sicheng down that a dark path, too — is he just a means to an end, Zitao, like . . . what was his name? Luhan?”

It was an instantaneous response. Flames were extinguished and a noise he could only describe as a strangled whimper reached his ears. “Don’t.” For once Zitao didn’t sound cocky and sure of himself — he sounded young, vulnerable, _pleading_. “Don’t speak of him, you don’t— you know nothing.” Zitao was right, he didn’t know anything about what’d happened other than something bad, obviously, but he did know enough to garner that it was a soft spot and he’d been right. “You may not see it but this is the right path, the path they’ve laid out for us. Sicheng is _strong_. I’m only trying to help him.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Zitao. If this is the path your _gods_ have set you down then maybe you should think about whether your gods are as righteous as you claim.”

-

One of Taemin’s favourite features in Weishen House was by far the library. He’d been alive for long enough that he was probably more thorough with his memory than some of the many historical records in its shelves but that wasn’t the point — when you’d been alive for a few hundred years you tended to pick up some hobbies. Seduction and plotting the downfall of irritating monarchs was one thing, but sometimes he craved something more placid and relaxed. The way he saw it, you could never know too much.

There was the beginnings of a library back home (partially due to his own efforts of restoring the abysmal, damaged collection there) but nothing like this, and the stuff here was quite different, too. He’d learned a lot about their ways of magic that he hadn’t exactly known before. Despite the fact he loved his men and cherished their company, he still needed his own time here and there. Hence, the library.

The warlock was reclining back against the window seat with one arm crossed over his waist and the other holding a book up in front of his face, eyes lazily scanning over the pages of intricate sigils and shellwork though certainly trying to memorise every single detail. He heard the library door open, then close, and then the approaching footsteps, but made no effort to move.

“Sicheng,” he hummed quietly when the noise stopped just in front of him. Taemin closed his book and set it to the side before looking up. Sicheng looked, for lack of a better word, terrible. Perhaps unhinged was a better word. There were dark circles under his eyes and his eyes were rubbed red, dazed yet simultaneously filled with determination. His hair was a mess. Taemin was willing to bet that the other male hadn’t had a wink of sleep at all since the meeting. “How can I help you?”

“I need your help.” Taemin’s gaze sharpened and he sat up straighter. “Tonight. I’m summoning a greater demon and the only way to guarantee the stability of the summon is you.”

“My blood.” Part of him wished that Sicheng was joking, but he knew he wasn’t — could see just how serious he was. Summoning any demon to make a bargain was incredibly dangerous and reckless, but something more powerful, more potent, like a greater demon . . . it was practically suicidal. He wouldn’t— no, _couldn’t_ be a part of that. “I won’t do it, Sicheng. You don’t understand what you’re talking about here. This sort of power isn’t made for humans.”

Sicheng ground his teeth together before shrugging and looking past him out the window. “Fine. I can’t make you. Midnight, seventh room on the right on the lowest floor — I’ll be doing it with or without you,” was all he said before he left.

It was a bluff, surely — no one would dare attempt such a thing like this, even Sicheng, not knowing that without the blood of someone like him there’d be little to no chance of success; he was probably powerful enough to summon a greater demon, to be honest, but he’d never be able to hope to control them, not alone. It had to be a bluff. Right?

But this was Sicheng, and even as he hoped that it was a bluff he knew deep down that it wasn’t, and that Sicheng _knew_ he couldn’t just ignore it. Crazy bastard.

“I’m beginning to get sick of humans,” he seethed under his breath as he hit his head back against the window with a loud thud and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Taeyong coaxed in a soft whisper as he brushed some of Mark’s hair back off his forehead, fingertips skating gently over his skin before settling on his cheek. “You get this little dip between your forehead when you’re thinking.”_
> 
> _“Nothing.” Mark paused, then chuckled ever so quietly. “Just how much I love you. How glad I am that I have you again after all this time.”_


	20. chapter twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of everything that's happened, some plan and some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a filler but I hope you enjoy - I figured I'd give some fluff and comfort before we get into the climax (hee hee) of the story! Hope you're all staying safe and taking care of yourselves.  
> We're really on the home stretch now, only a few more chapters and then the epilogue. We'll have more fics in this verse though, promise :)

Mark hadn’t registered that the bed had begun to grow cold until another warm body slid into the space behind him and arms wrapped loosely around his body; as reluctant as he had been to rest, now that he’d had a taste his body was more than reluctant to fully wake. Part of it was simply due to his exhaustion but another part, perhaps even larger, was simply because he would do anything not to have to face the world outside these four walls. He didn’t know what they were going to do now. He almost didn’t _want_ to know.

Even so, Mark knew he couldn’t hide in his bed forever. The dark-haired male let out a quiet, drawn-out groan and squeezed his eyes shut even harder as his face buried into his pillow which resulted in a faint chuckle from behind him. Soft fingers moved up to trace down his cheek and jaw before they were chased with the gentlest press of lips, delicate like a butterfly’s wings. “Get some more sleep, Mark.”

“I’ve been awake for a while,” he admitted begrudgingly before wiggling around under the mass of blankets so that he could properly face Taeyong. He looked tired, too, but the other male wore even exhaustion well. His hair looked as soft as freshly fallen snow where it fell over his forehead and tickled his brows, eyes shining with tenderness though evidently tired with how the skin around them seemed a little bluer, all remnants of last night washed away.

They lay like that for a while, so close that there was barely any space between them and their breath mingled with each warm exhale, comfortable in the silence that stretched on. Taeyong was always just . . . so beautiful. Mark wasn’t sure there’d ever be an apt word to describe him since everything seemed to pale in comparison to his beauty but he could try. Part of him found it hard to connect the memories of a dark-haired youth laughing and chasing him through a maze of shelves with the pale-haired fae who lay across from him, but the more his mind dwelled on the fact the more he realised that they were one and the same. If anything, this Taeyong was the closest to the boy he’d once grown up with compared to the man he’d come home to.

Sure, his friend had often been quiet and at times a little shy, but he’d never been _meek_ , never too scared to voice his opinion or been unable to look someone in the eyes — he’d never doubted his love for others or their love for him. They’d both grown and changed over the years but Taeyong . . . in Mark’s eyes, he was finally finding himself; not who he was expected to be or who circumstances had allowed for, but who he truly was, who he wanted to be.

In that sense, Mark still felt lost, like a stray dandelion seed drifting through the air— no, even a dandelion seed knew its true purpose.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Taeyong coaxed in a soft whisper as he brushed some of Mark’s hair back off his forehead, fingertips skating gently over his skin before settling on his cheek. “You get this little dip on your forehead when you’re thinking.”

“Nothing.” Mark paused, then chuckled ever so quietly. “Just how much I love you. How glad I am that I have you again after all this time.” His words were worth it just to see the way that Taeyong’s eyes curved and he smiled, something equally fond and flustered.

“You can be such a sweet talker when you want to be.”

“I learnt from the best.” He shifted as best he could to bridge the gap between them and graze their lips together before caving and searching for a proper kiss as his hand settled on Taeyong’s side. It was the sort of kiss that he melted into without any worries and allowed himself to get lost into as they held each other; a soft caress, a breathy exhale, smiles he could feel against the swell of his lips and a pleased hum.

To be completely honest, he hadn’t even realised that his body had reacted to such mild stimulation, might not have for a while if one of Taeyong’s thighs hadn’t wedged between his own and drawn a weak little groan from his lips that had him pulling back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t, uh . . .”

All Taeyong did was press a finger to his lips with a small, “shh,” before dragging a kiss down the side of his throat. “It’s okay.” He— oh, okay, apparently he wasn’t the only one if the firm press against the hollow of his hip was anything to go by, though the moment he moved to reach down the white-haired male was clicking his tongue and guiding his hand back up to his waist. Mark let out a confused noise. “Talk to me, Mark. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Taeyong . . .” the other male didn’t push him on the subject, though, just let the kisses to his throat grow messier as his thigh rocked against the burgeoning erection in his trousers and gentle fingers scratched at his scalp. Mark planned to try and weasel his way out of the conversation but when Taeyong was being so sweet and understanding, giving him space to talk rather than demanding, it was hard not to fall to his whims. He doubted the other male would ever know the extent of the power he held over them,

Mark sighed and tentatively rocked his hips forward. “I don’t know who I am without you. All of you,” he clarified. “I’ve never—“ gods, how in the world was he supposed to focus when he had Taeyong nibbling at his collarbone and lapping like a hungry kitten, “—I’ve never not had one of you with me and . . . sometimes I don’t know who _I_ am.”

“You’re Mark Lee,” Taeyong murmured against his skin and moved one hand away to trail down his exposed chest as he shucked some of the blankets back, rolling him over onto his back with one smooth motion and drawing back to straddle his thighs. “I see a man who’s kind and selfless, who has one of the biggest hearts I know, who carries everyone else’s burdens on his shoulders,” he mused as nails scraped over one of his nipples and made his muscles flinch in response. “But you don’t have to _be_ anything other than what you want.” Warm brown eyes snapped to his own as a chaste kiss as a kiss was pressed just to the left of his bellybutton. “Tell me.”

“What?” Mark managed, breathless and lost in the other’s gaze.

“If you didn’t have to worry about anyone, anything, if you could just _be_ . . . what would you do? If you’d never known us. Me.” Mark opened his mouth to protest but was quickly cut off when his trousers were peeled down to his knees and a soft hand wrapped around his length; it was a little too dry, too much pull with each loose, lazy twist of the other’s fist, but it was so _good._

 _What would he do, huh?_ Mark couldn’t imagine a reality in which they didn’t all end up finding their way back to each other, but for the sake of entertaining his lover . . . “I think I’d want to travel,” he finally breathed out as his fingers curled tightly into the sheets. “Like Kyungsoo — or maybe not like— ah, not like that, but I’d want to . . . see the world. Meet people. There’s so much out there I don’t know.”

Taeyong let out a quiet hum and leant down to allow a string of warm saliva to fall over his cock, fingers smoothing it down quickly and drawing another muffled noise from Mark’s own lips. “More.”

“I feel so— _Yong_.” Mark wouldn’t describe the noise as a whine, but it was something akin to that as Taeyong dragged his thumb leisurely over the head and dipped down into his slit before drawing back to showcase a line of viscous fluid that connected them. “Gods. I feel so insignificant compared to the world, so small — I don’t have magic like you or the others and I’m not a fierce warrior like Jongin or Lucas, not skilled like Baekhyun, I’m just—“

“You’re incredible,” Taeyong practically purred as he tightened his grip enough to have Mark writhing a little under his touch. “You don’t see the man _I do_. The first time I saw you again you looked every bit the warrior they do, Mark, dressed all in black with that bow of yours, facing up against a man I’d cowered before for years. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. When you talk, people listen — when you smile, when you _laugh_ , people fall in love with you; you light up the room in a way no one else can.”

Each word was filled with the utmost conviction as the fae ducked his head to nip at Mark’s stomach before laving the mark with his tongue and sitting back up; he hadn’t removed even a piece of his own clothing yet Mark could see he was just as hard and aching in his own pants. “Let me,” he managed, breathless, as he tried to reach one hand out, but Taeyong quickly guided it back down to the bed.

“No. You’re so used to looking after everyone else, let me look after you,” the other insisted. It didn’t make Mark _uncomfortable_ , but it was . . . he wasn’t used to this. It wasn’t like his lovers were inattentive by any means — no, that was far from the truth — but rather that he’d always found himself going with the flow rather than taking an active role or letting someone else cater solely to his own needs. Mark craved their attention, their affection, but he never allowed himself to demand it.

Taeyong tossed aside his pants completely and settled between Mark’s thighs with the offending limbs hanging over his own where he knelt, elevating his hips just a little as he doubled his efforts. It wasn’t something he’d ever let himself focus on or really entertain, not even something he’d ever thought about in-depth, but Mark could admit that he appreciated his lover's hands. Memories of training sessions where he’d been distracted by the flex of Jongin’s hands around a sword or Ten’s when he used his magic, the way Lucas’s dwarfed his own so completely; how skilled Baekhyun was with his fingers as he wielded his blades or how Taemin’s hands were, in their own way, rather cute. Then there were Taeyong’s, of course, slender and delicate in their own way but with prominent veins that he often found himself staring at whenever the other was working, always so purposeful with each movement.

He loved _this_ , the feeling of Taeyong’s palm wrapped around his cock just the way he liked it, a little wet and messy, enough to make noise, not too firmly; he’d cup his palm on each upstroke and allow a bit more pressure as he rubbed tantalisingly over the head before pausing for a moment to tease with those long fingers, tracing veins and ridges that had the muscles in Mark’s thighs shivering and twitching as his other hand smoothed over his inner thigh.

“I could watch you like this forever,” Taeyong rasped as his free thumb dipped down and traced the crease of his thigh firmly, his eyes hungry and roaming over his body like he was admiring the view. It made Mark’s stomach coil in anticipation. “ _Look at you_. How can you not see what everyone else does?”

A flush rose up his chest and he craved nothing more than to look away, to shy away from the praise like he was used to, but something about the other’s gaze held him firmly in place. How could he not listen when the words were falling from Taeyong’s lips?

“I’m close,” he warned with a gulp as his hips stuttered up off the bed again. Taeyong just smiled.

“That’s okay. You’ll come for me, won’t you, Mark?”

Just as that wave crested he felt the air begin to buzz with a familiar magic, and that was all the warning he got before he was pulled into his own mind. Mark saw himself from eyes that weren’t his own, too;skin damp with perspiration and dark eyes, dark hair plastered to his forehead and an expression of ecstasy as he trembled and writhed, white ropes spilling over his stomach. His muscles rippled through the waves of his orgasm and then it hit again out of nowhere, coursing through his body like a fire and drawing a noise just shy of a sob from his lungs as Taeyong slumped down a little and sealed their lips together. For a moment, he didn’t know where he ended and Taeyong began as even their hearts seemed to beat in sync — an erratic, unpredictable melody.

“Putting yourself first doesn’t mean being selfish,” Taeyong whispered an unidentifiable amount of time later, “but sometimes being selfish isn’t a bad thing, either.”

—

“Get back here! It’s not funny— _Chenle!_ ”

Despite everything, Baekhyun found himself smiling as he pushed around the food on his plate and spared a small glance up from the table. The dining hall was never quiet, not really, but it was always substantially louder when ‘the youngsters’ were present. Then again, Baekhyun felt like he considered anyone younger than him a youngster, these days. Gods, he didn’t want to be _old_.

Someone ran behind his seat and he rolled his eyes before setting his fork down completely. He was fucking terrified of what’d happened last night and what it meant, what was going to happen, and there was a lot of things that, at this point, were still up in the air — except for one thing. There was no backing down, not now. Baekhyun had never imagined that one day he’d be putting himself in such a dangerous situation for people he’d known for such a small amount of time, yet here he was, burning with a violent need for revenger for said people.

How could anyone look at them and not feel the same? So many of them were just children still. Perhaps not the youngest of children, but despite the fact that they could appear mature far beyond their years it was moments like these when he saw behind the curtain. Whilst he probably wouldn’t admit it out loud it did make him feel somewhat special, to think that they trusted him enough to let their guard down, to simply be. It was why he couldn’t bring himself to scold them for running around and half-screaming even though it was rather grating on his ears.

“ _Gege, save me!_ ”

Baekhyun tipped his head back and let a tired laugh out as the younger boy half-crouched beside his chair and grabbed his arm. He wasn’t sure that _anyone_ could be as chaotic as Hyuck, but . . . well, he felt like these boys could probably hold their own around him. It made his chest grow tight to think about him. Donghyuck was a crafty little bastard, and admittedly Baekhyun had been wasted most of the time they’d been around each other, but he couldn’t deny that somehow he’d grown rather fond of the brat. He hadn’t had an easy life either, but still, these boys deserved to have that same safety now, that reassurance.

The older male clicked his tongue and stood, still allowing the other to hide behind him for a moment as Renjun and Kunhang came closer; the latter looked more than a little haggard yet was still putting on a brave face and distracting the others from the chaos that was unfolding around them. Baekhyun felt they were all too young to bear such a burden.

He didn’t have a clue what Chenle could’ve done to warrant such a fervent chase but he knew all of this was in good fun. If he could ease their minds for even a little bit . . .

“You owe me, kid,” was all he snorted before shooting one chair forward across the floor with a large scrape to block the pair’s path momentarily. “ _Run!_ ”

-

Jongin was a king, now, as he’d always been destined to be, but sometimes he couldn’t help but notice that things hadn’t really changed since he’d been crowned, they’d just escalated. Taking up jobs as they ventured the land, from small tasks to clearing out bandits who’d essentially taken control of towns, to now — war. Jongin knew it wasn’t something any of them wanted. Somehow, this didn’t feel as daunting as it should’ve, not considering what they’d already endured together.

To Jongin, magic was all the same; he knew it was all different, he wasn’t stupid, but as someone with no magical talent or inclination all that mattered was he couldn’t necessarily fight it head-on like he was used to. He had to be smart about it. It helped that he had other sharp minds to help him in such matters.

“I’m surprised you’re all aboard with this idea,” Ten hummed from where he was perched on the edge of the table and sifting through the organised mess of maps he’d gathered from the archives. Jongin snorted under his breath.

“Like I’ve ever run from a good fight.”

A small sigh echoed through the room. “It wouldn’t be much of a fight.” It was Dejun who spoke up — he was a lot quieter than usual but then again he had been since the incident. Jongin had seen that light stolen from the eyes of far too many youths in his life and he hoped that, for Dejun at least, it wouldn’t be permanent. At least the boy had friends and family to keep him on track. “Surprisingly, most of her followers don’t have magic — she doesn’t like to be upstaged. Her faction is one of the largest. We would’ve moved against her already if we could.”

“Hey,” Lucas placated as he squeezed the other’s shoulder. The other had gone off earlier to get some sleep (with Taemin’s help, and though Jongin had been tempted to be magically sent off to sleep too, he hadn’t been able to go through with it. He had too much to do) but now he was helping Dejun diligently try to make up a map of Lady Liu’s main residence. From what he could remember, at least. “We’ve faced worse than her. We’ll be fine.”

Dejun snorted and ever so gently shook off his hand as dark eyes flickered up to glance over all of them. “You don’t understand — it’s not just her. Not just her people. If she’s gone, how is that going to make the others listen to us? No matter how much they fear Sicheng they won’t take us seriously.”

“Fear isn’t the way to rule,” Jongin found himself arguing quietly. Fear would bring you followers, yes, but they’d never truly be faithful; fear was one of the strongest human reactions, something base and primal, something that could never be ignored. It’d always win, in the end, and people tended to run from their fears at the first opportunity.

“Maybe not where you’re from, but the only respect you’ll get here is based on fear. They won’t listen to reason. We all wish there was a chance to change things and make it better but it’s not that easy, Your Majesty. It can’t be done overnight. So we start with fear.”

Jongin opened his mouth to speak up again, a furrow starting to form between his brows, but before he could even get a word out a hand covered his hand and squeezed firmly — not necessarily a scolding, but a warning. Despite it, Ten’s focus was on offering Dejun a smile that was reassuring at first glance, but held a dark sort of promise he hadn’t seen in a long time. “Fear won’t be a problem,” he mused with a sigh. “We’ll make sure of that, Dejun.”

Idly, he found himself thinking that Ten’s declaration should’ve scared him. It didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _At the centre of it all was Sicheng. He was dressed in nothing but a red robe that was tied loosely around his waist and exposed the centre of his chest. In front of him was a bronze bowl and a small, ornate dagger balanced on its edge as well as four candles to represent not only each element but each point on a compass. “I didn’t think you’d come.”_
> 
> _“You knew I would,” Taemin replied bluntly._


	21. chapter twenty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin finds himself bowing to the whims of a human, even though he swore he'd never allow it to happen again. Like every other time, he quickly realises it was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! I hope you all enjoy it, even if it's . . . rough. I'm going to apologise in advance, but it has to get worse (a lot worse) before it gets better. This is the (start of the) climax of the story and I'm crying with you all. Y'all not ready for what's to come.
> 
> content warnings:  
> \- all the usual   
> [ I don't want to spoil, so I'll be as vague but specific as possible]  
> \- moderate mentions of blood/injuries  
> \- mild-moderate descriptions of self-mutilation  
> \- mild-moderate transphobia and everything that comes with it (ie misgendering)
> 
> the next chapter will be very dark, but this chapter begins to set up for that.

One of the rules from their first night here had been that no one was permitted to enter the rooms that lay below the monolith of Weishen House — that had only been amended when Lucas had stayed in one of those rooms for a few weeks as he began his recovery, but even then, any visits would be chaperoned from the stairs to his door. No chance to peer into any of the other locked rooms nor to wander off and explore. This whole place was saturated with Sicheng’s magic, something Taemin had grown mildly used to during his stay, but these underground halls . . . it was much more potent.

There’d been no guards cautioned at the top of the staircase tonight, though then again most of the inhabitants of this place were currently sleeping considering the hour. The halls were near deathly silent and even his footsteps did nothing to displace that stillness, muffled by his own magic so that none would begin to wonder who was out at this time — Baekhyun and Jongin were both fast asleep in his bed and clutching at pillows rather than his body and there’d been no noise from the other rooms.

 _Seventh room on the right_.

Taemin could already feel the foreign magic tickling over his skin as he grew nearer to the open doorway ahead of him. Faint, flickering light spilt out from the break in the wall and illuminated a portion of the hallway brighter than the rest, an orange glow that he knew to be flames. Candles, likely. He sucked in a slow, even breath and wracked his mind for any other possible way around this before he reluctantly stepped into the light.

In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if something bad happened to Sicheng — the more rational side of his mind, one free of interfering emotions and sentiment, suggested it’d probably benefit him in the long run. Less trouble. The _other_ side, the one that Taemin still wasn’t quite used to listening to, declared that he couldn’t allow such a thing. Beyond the fact that there was an odd, strained kinship that he felt with the human, the consequences of Sicheng being harmed would have a ripple effect; the people he’d grown fond of here would suffer; Lucas would mourn his brother; he was Ten’s friend and Taeyong seemed fiercely determined that these people were theirs now, too.

Perhaps he didn’t like Sicheng very much in that moment, but he couldn’t let him throw away his life for power.

“Do I want to know how you’re proficient in ancient rituals?” Rituals that had been lost to time before Sicheng had even been born.

Sicheng glanced up from where he was waiting, kneeling, on the ground and gave a barely audible snort. He looked tired— no, exhausted. _Desperate_. “Probably not.” It seemed as though everything was ready, though that wasn’t very surprising to him. Layers of red candles, varying sized, formed a strategic circle that encompassed a considerable portion of the room, white sigils and runes carved into the floor in white chalk. The stone flooring was worn and stained in areas like no matter how much Sicheng had cleaned he hadn’t been able to completely erase the evidence of his past summonings.

At the centre of it all was Sicheng. He was dressed in nothing but a red robe that was tied loosely around his waist and exposed the centre of his chest. In front of him was a bronze bowl and a small, ornate dagger balanced on its edge as well as four candles to represent not only each element but each point on a compass. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You knew I would,” Taemin replied bluntly. He wasn’t going to play games, not tonight.

Sicheng let out a soft huff of air that could almost pass as a sigh and the human met his eyes without a hint of fear, nor shame. “You’re right, I did. Would you believe me if I said I wish it hadn’t come to this?”

“Probably not.” The dark-haired male inclined his head like Taemin’s words were valid before focusing back on the set up before him. Long, pale fingers motioned for him to take a seat, too.

To be fair — not that it mattered — Sicheng truly didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about what they were going to do. There was no rush of excitement or power prowling behind his gaze as Taemin left his own shirt to the side and moved to kneel in the centre of the summoning circle, coming to rest directly across from him with the candles, bowl and dagger resting between them. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone look so focused yet simultaneously distant like his mind had wandered far away. Unhinged, that was the first word which came to mind.When the sleeves of his red robe shifted it revealed plenty of dark bruises littering pale arms that looked fresh, and suspiciously like fingerprints.

Taemin cursed under his breath. “You don’t need to do this. Lady Liu will be dealt with—“

“It’s not just about her,” Sicheng snapped. His tone was dripping with desperation more than anything else. “It’s about all of them — I have to be able to protect my people. I need to be stronger.”

“I could stop you,” Taemin stated simply; he didn’t bother trying to mask it as anything else other than what it was, which was a subtle threat.

“You won’t.” His jaw ticked at the way the human sounded so sure of himself. “If you try to stop me, you have no idea what I’ll do. It’d be a shame if innocent parties got caught up in this.”

He opened his mouth to call Sicheng’s bluff and say that he wouldn’t, except . . . well, Taemin couldn’t say with absolute confidence that it _was_ a bluff. Sicheng was many things, but he wasn’t needlessly cruel — that being said, he was a man who seemed to have nothing to lose other than those he loved, and someone like that would do anything to keep them safe. Could he truly trust that Sicheng wouldn’t hurt them? He wouldn’t touch Lucas, his brother, and Ten and Taeyong could likely hold their own, Yuta too, but his humans . . . what chance would they stand if Sicheng’s wrath came their way?

It was like backing a tiger against a wall and trying to figure out how in the world you were supposed to get out of the situation. Usually, you’d lose a limb or two. As the rage and frustration began to simmer in his stomach Taemin found himself wondering which of them was actually the tiger. “The more you talk, the more inclined I am to kill you here and now,” he gritted through his teeth.

Every movement was sharp and angry yet still precise as he reached out for the dagger and rearranged the bowl to sit perfectly on the sigils beneath it; with a crisp flick of his wrist, the four candles at each point came alive with flames that flickered wildly for a few long seconds before they settled into something more tamed. The visual was more than enough to remind him of another similar scene, not in a dungeon but rather a frigid, dying forest where he’d been ready to lose everything for those he loved. How fitting.

He traced warm fingers over the permanent sigil over his heart and allowed the comfort of that bond to traipse through his body before the dagger was dragged effectively down from between his clavicles to his sternum. The cut wasn’t deep by any means, just enough to burn and draw blood to the surface — crimson streams slowly formed and dripped down into the bowl with the aid of his magic. Taemin didn’t even look up as he handed the dagger over but soon the air was filled with the scent of iron as blood stained Sicheng’s robe. Darker streaks of red that shone wet under the candlelight.

With the potency of the magic both of them possessed, and the link of its origin, it was laughably easy to raise the energy around them — as easy as breathing — but it was still separate. “Let’s get it over with,” the warlock muttered as he leant forward a little. He had to force down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat and it looked like Sicheng was equally as repulsed by the idea, but both of them knew this wouldn’t stop the human from his goal. No doubt he’d suffered through far worse for power. Lips pressed against his own firmly but without any trace of emotion or want and they both _pushed_.

The effect was instantaneous; the flames of the candles rose high into the air around them and whipped about, moved by an invisible wind as the very ground underfoot seemed to quiver and tremble under the force of their power. Sicheng may not have had demon blood, but all his magic came from demons, even the natural power he’d been born with — _of course_ it was compatible.

Whilst it wasn’t something he enjoyed or particularly wanted to do, he let Sicheng take control of the summon as their magic peaked, to a degree at least. There was only one chance at this and he couldn’t afford to jeopardise it. The sorcerer peeled away from him and barely held back a gag before his eyes rolled back a little in his head and he shook as the power started to really hit him, the sort of power Taemin had always known, the sort that no human should ever possess. The fact that even just this on top of Sicheng’s was enough to have blood just barely showing under one nostril told Taemin everything he’d already known. Sicheng wouldn’t be able to do this— he couldn’t survive it. No human could.

“Sicheng—“

“I’m sorry, Taemin,” the dark-haired male managed to get out. He was pale but covered with a fine sheen of sweat, eyes dark and nose bloody, robe dishevelled and soaked with blood. “I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t want it to be like this, you’ve been nothing but good to us. I . . . I don’t have a choice, anymore.”

The air shifted to something cold despite the candles burning. The air filled with a thick, rotten stench that burnt his nostrils and made him gag and cover his lower face with one hand; even the fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end at the feeling of _wrongness_ that surrounded them, something so terrifyingly familiar. Before he could even open his mouth again his body seized and pain exploded in his temples.

For the first time in a very long time, Taemin was scared. Not for others, but himself.

He wasn’t sure where he began and Sicheng ended. Sounds and images flashed through his mind so fast that he couldn’t grasp onto one singular thing or even brace himself for the force of any of it, most of it so frantic and scrambled there was no hope to make sense of it or navigate his way through the waves that kept crashing over his consciousness.

_/A young child stands in front of a mirror with a small, serrated knife and ruddy cheeks stained with moisture — there’s a tremble to their hands as they haphazardly slice off sections of long dark hair and let it fall to the ground; with each cut their shoulders grow lighter._

_It’s worth the beating that Mistress Xu gives them hours later./_

Pain wracked through his body as a voice tried to coax him to stop fighting.

_/“Go on! Scram!”_

_Large, warm hands help a young boy, no older then seven, up off the ground and the smaller figure instantly sinks into the older’s arms. His eyes burn and there’s a rage burning in his chest that demands repentance, yet, even so, it’s all he can do not to fall apart and ask his brother why he’s like this. Why do they hate him for it? Why do people look at him like he’s something to be pitied? The other boys call him names and play cruel games and the Mistresses say it’s a shame his mind is so warped — that he could be so strong if he stopped defying them._

_“It’s okay,” his brother soothes, “Kun-ge is here./_

It wasn’t easy to summon a demon. Even for a minor being, it took a considerable amount of strength and skill to be able to open up a link between dimensions. For a long time, even Taemin hadn’t been capable of such a thing. For a long time, he’d done everything he could to get stronger, to have the means to do so.

_/Two attendants carry off a smaller body that’s screaming and crying. The boy can’t get the image out of his head as he heaves over and over, throwing up everything in his gut until nothing comes up and his tears have long since dried. The glass, the blood — he did that. He’s terrified by what he’s done to one of the older apprentices until he remembers the way Yukhei’s eyes had been filled with tears as the older boys hurled insults and taunted him, the baby bird his brother had been hiding and nursing back to health dead on the ground. Then, he feels satisfied. His blood sings as he remembers the way they’d cowered and apologised./_

There’d been a time when the only thing Taemin had ever craved was his father’s approval; to belong.

_/People whisper and stare as he walks by, but he keeps his head held high regardless._

_“Is that her?”_

_“No way— she won’t last a week. They’ll tear her apart.”_

_“I heard she’s twisted.”_

_“Freak.”_

_“Monster.”_

_“I heard she’s a real looker under all that, though.”_

_A hand squeezes his shoulder and he turns his head just enough to see Yangyang smile. “You can do this, Sicheng — we believe in you.” He covers the hand with his own and allows a smile that’s always been just for them. He’ll do anything to keep them safe, even if it means enduring this for the rest of his life. Whatever it takes. I’ll live for you, he thinks to himself, or die for you./_

“It’s been a long time. I was starting to think you didn’t care about me anymore, Taeminnie.”

When Taemin opened his eyes he was standing in a small, dilapidated home which had nearly been lost to the decay of time. Plants grew through the rotten floorboards and the roof had long since caved in, splintered planks and rubbish littered around his feet where he stood. Even so, he could still discern the nook in the far wall where he’d been banished to sleep as a youth. Could still make out faint scorch marks that’d outlasted even this wretched place, etched into the remaining parts of the structure. He imagined a childhood home should probably have brought joy and fond, reminiscent memories, but there was nothing in this place for Taemin other than loss and hate and _pain_ , pain so intense it’d plagued him for numerous lifetimes.

Being back here made him feel like a child; small, weak, defenceless.

Wood and leaves made noises of distress as someone stepped closer and drew his eye. He was tall, the man who stood before him. Long, inky hair which shone like silk in loose waves and sharp, feline eyes that mirrored his own, a strong jaw and plush lips with defined brows. His body was a perfect balance of feminine and masculine with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, all lean muscle which rippled with every step. He was beautiful, but his beauty was not the innocent kind, rather that which belonged to a predator. The mere sight of him was enough to make Taemin want to heave.

The warlock stumbled back a step and almost tripped over a beam as he tried to pull his magic forth but there was no answer to the call, just the deafening silence that lingered in the air.

“Now now, is that any way to great your father?”

“Dong Sicheng!” He all but screamed in a mix of desperation, anguish and rage; even as he roared, Taemin knew that he couldn’t hear him. That his shouts were only echoed in the inside of his own mind where he was confined, trapped with the consciousness of the one thing he would always run from.

“Look at me, Taemin.”

It was not of his own violation that his head turned, but rather that of his father as a hand moved his jaw with utterly inhumane force. Jongin had often whispered in his ear over the years that he possessed an aura that could never truly be mistaken for human, but Taemin was nothing compared to the being that had been his sire. It was impossible to look at him and see anything other than the monster he was even with a guise that was supposed to appear as something human. His father leaned in and grinned to showcase pointed teeth and his pupils narrowed to the point they were barely visible slits in molten gold.

“Checkmate.”

—

The first thing that Taeyong registered was that the way the bed was trembling. The second was the deafening crack that resonated throughout the room as the door burst open and splintered wood flew from the lock. Despite how disoriented he was (and still just barely having woken up) he was up within a moment and letting his magic curl up under his skin as he focused on the intruder. The commotion must have stirred Ten, too.

“Zitao—“

“Get up,” the man hurried. He looked incredibly dishevelled in a way that wasn’t the usual, artful laziness that he usually wore. His eyes were puffy and dark, expression something deeply troubled and frantic. “Get up— it’s Sicheng.” Of course, without even knowing exactly what was going on Taeyong instantly slipped out of bed and fumbled to pull on his shoes as quickly as he could. Now that he was actually focusing on his surroundings he wasn’t sure how he’d actually missed it — the sheer force and power of the magic that was saturating the air around them, almost cloying in nature. It had such an odd taste, something he couldn’t quite call familiar, but there was something that tickled thoughts which wouldn’t fully form.

“You were right, Ten, I—“

“Where is he?”

“They’re in the dungeons.”

 _They_. Taeyong’s mind didn’t even register that crucial little detail, too caught up in the moment. As they spilt out into the hallway he could hear other doors opening and shouts despite the hour and supposed curfew but the rooms around his own were still silent and still — another fact that seemed inconsequential in that moment. The air around them was frigid and thick like molasses; no matter how fast they ran it felt as though they were moving far too slow.

The fae had no idea what was actually going on or what Sicheng had done, what he was doing, but Taeyong could _feel_ the wrongness of it — this wasn’t like that overbearing edge to his magic which he’d grown used to over time, no, this was something completely incomparable. He felt like he was drowning in it. Whatever it was, he knew it was dangerous. So dangerous that even Zitao had caved and couldn’t allow it to come to fruition.

Taeyong had thought he’d felt power when he’d met Seungyoun, when he’d met the fae elders, but none of it could compare to _this_.

With all of his focus on reaching the dungeons, he paid no mind whatsoever to their surroundings, which was perhaps why it caught him by such surprise when Zitao went flying and collided with the wall a few feet away with a deafening thud. “What is it with you people and walls—“ The man didn’t get a chance to finish before Yuta’s face was mere inches away from his own and one hand was curled firmly around the width of his throat, harsh enough to restrict his words and no doubt his voice.

He’d seen Yuta angry before, but angry wasn’t the word to describe this. Taeyong wasn’t sure if it could be down to a human emotion such as rage, but the fire that burnt in his eyes and the menacing stillness that hung in the air around him was enough to communicate that he wasn’t to be trifled with. “If he dies I will tear you apart with my bare hands, Huang Zitao. Do you understand me?” Dark nails clawed at his hand with utter desperation as Zitao struggled to even get air into his lungs under that vice-like grip, but the strangled noise that escaped his lips must have been satisfactory. That, or Yuta just wouldn’t waste time.

As Zitao finally drew in frantic, deep exhales, Taeyong opened his mouth and took a few steps forward; he couldn’t even reach out before Yuta was storming down the staircase like a man on a mission. “Yuta!” For the first time, Yuta didn’t listen to him. He’d always been older, stronger, smarter, but despite all that he’d always bowed to Taeyong’s whims and listened to his every word — the man he’d met in the forest all those months ago had been lost and someone who’d craved purpose, who’d needed it, and Taeyong had reluctantly offered what he could. Maybe, just maybe, Yuta didn’t need him anymore.

“By the gods,” he hissed under his breath as he ran after him, Ten no doubt not very far behind, though in the moment that wasn’t his main focus. Sicheng, of course, but now Yuta had been added into the equation, too, and everyone knew the fae didn’t think clearly when it came to their host. It was his turn to look after Yuta and make sure he didn’t do anything too rash.

If he’d thought he could feel power beforehand, it was nothing compared to the moment he stepped foot on the stone floors of the dungeon. Despite his worries Taeyong came to a sudden stop and nearly doubled over as it rippled up his spine and made his muscles seize in protest; it was painful. How could _anything_ hold this much power? He could feel it surrounding him, prying at his defences in a way that masqueraded as something sweet and seductive, licking over his skin and whispering for him to let it in. It made his skin crawl. _Nothing_ about this was sweet or gentle no matter how it appeared — Taeyong could feel the force behind it.

The white-haired male stumbled forward and steadied himself on the wall as he grew closer and closer to the source. It took everything in him to be able to push past the invisible wall in his way and round the corner of the open doorway.

“Stop!” That was Sicheng’s voice, though it took Taeyong a moment to actually focus on the scene before him and take it in. In the centre of the room stood Sicheng, yes, but the taller figure beside him was _Taemin_ , his shirt discarded and blood smeared over his chest and mouth. Only a few feet in front of him was Yuta, who’d stepped into the near-circle of red candles and had stopped with one foot raised as though he was about to take another step. “Don’t, please— you can’t break the circle.”

 _Circle_. That was one word for the unbelievably intricate and precise scrawl of sigils that covered the floor of the room — only a few he recognised. The rest seemed old, the sort humans shouldn’t touch.

“Sicheng,” Yuta rasped even as his foot moved back to the solid ground beside his other one. “Don’t do this. Let me help you.”

“What is going on? Taemin?” Taeyong appealed. He was so utterly lost. Save for the bit of blood staining Sicheng’s robe and how drained he looked everything seemed fine. That didn’t explain why Taemin was here or why he was half-naked or why there was blood in the first place, or ceremonial candles, or a magic circle of some sort, or why Taemin was staring at him in a way that made his hair stand on end and his stomach curl in a way that was far from pleasant. “Taemin?”

“Nothing’s wrong, gorgeous,” Taemin spoke. It was his voice, of course, but everything about it was wrong, from the little inflexions as he spoke to the endearment tagged onto the end which Taemin never would’ve used — especially not in these circumstances. Taemin extended an arm out to him and half-crooked long fingers; the kind, reassuring expression was stretched too tight on his features and didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were void of anything. It was like looking at stained glass — breathtaking, beautiful, but cold. Empty.

Rather than taking a step forward, Taeyong took a half-step back.

He couldn’t recall a time where he’d ever truly been fearful in Taemin’s presence, let alone of the man in question. Even those first few weeks when the demon had been a mysterious, worrying figure who had seemed unattainable at the best of times hadn’t been filled with fear. That first real encounter, where he’d offered himself into a bargain he hadn’t understood, he hadn’t been terrified of what Taemin would do to him. Even before Taeyong had known him, he felt like his body — his soul, even — had known that Taemin would never harm him.

It didn’t feel like that now. There was no hint of the man he knew and loved in those empty eyes that stared back at him. A laugh left Taemin’s mouth, and it didn’t sound like his own, and then the faux-expression he’d been wearing slipped away like he was shedding a second skin and he was left staring at a face that was so simultaneously familiar and foreign.

“It’s no fun if you don’t fall for my tricks,” Taemin spoke as he took another step towards the edge of the circle. Yuta seemed to stumble backwards against his will and Taeyong just barely managed to get his feet to move, one in front of the other, so that he could steady the other male.

He’d come in here fearing for Sicheng, but now . . . he felt like it was completely understandable that his attention had shifted. That his priorities in that moment had changed. “Taeyong, Yuta— go. You need to go,” Sicheng insisted as he put himself between them and Taemin. “I’m sorry.”

“Like hell—“

“What have you done?” Taeyong was proud of the strength in his voice that showed through even as his hands began to tremor; he couldn’t decide what he was feeling but none of it was _good_. He was scared — he knew that much, at least. “ _Sicheng_ —“

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt fae power,” Taemin purred as his slitted pupils narrowed even further and he pressed against Sicheng’s hand which was on his chest, weak, but channelling energy to keep the taller male from pushing against the wards. “Come closer, pretty thing, let me have a taste.”

“Ignore them.” Sicheng didn’t even answer him or acknowledge his fury and desperation. “ _I_ am the one who summoned you, not them — I gave you a body to inhabit while we bargain.”

“And what is there to bargain, Dong Sicheng?” The demon posed with an arched brow and a look of cruel amusement. “What could you possibly offer me that would make it worth my while? Riches? I have all I need. Power? I have more than I could ever need. The one thing I would consider you are incapable of giving — your body is a barren wasteland where nothing is capable of growing.”

“I—“

“Oh, are you surprised that I know who you are? Or that I know what lengths you’ve gone to, what you’re willing to sacrifice to gain more power? Tell me: how did it feel to carve out your own insides? Do you regret it? Do you mourn it, the life that could’ve been?”

The noise that left Sicheng’s throat was quiet but utterly agonised, and not entirely human-sounding; it was the sort of sound you’d expect from a wounded animal.

“You’re right. I _will_ do anything to get stronger. You can’t kill me, not when I hold the circle — if I die then you get sucked back to your own dimension — but I can kill you, Asmodeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _"Don't do this. Please."_


	22. chapter twenty two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are willing to sacrifice a lot for the people they love, even life - Taemin is no stranger to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this physically hurt to me to write. Pls don't kill me. I promised a happy ending and it will be, I swear, we just need to get through this bitch of a chapter first. 
> 
> I'm really sorry this one has taken me so long, it's just that not only have I been going through it lately but this is such an important and pivotal chapter in not only this story but the series too, as it sets up for . . . things c;
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it, nonetheless, and thank you so much to everyone who's been supporting me as of late and interacting with the fic. I've added a (tentative) chapter count which includes the long epilogue - we're not far off the end! Alas, there will be more fics in this verse for side characters which will, of course, have more of our main boys in them too.

Half-breeds weren’t common these days — at least in the sense that _new_ half-breeds weren’t common. On average they didn’t live that much longer than humans, only an extra few decades, but the two halfs that Ten had encountered during the years before Taemin had been many years older than him. Of course, there were exceptions, like Jongdae, but Jongdae had come along a lot later.

It’d been evident from the moment that Ten had been born that he was something different; a disfigured abomination that his mother feared and rejected, not only for the mangled wings at his back but for what he represented to her. Her pain, her fear. Memories of a nightmare that she’d never wanted to acknowledge was real where she’d been taken by an abhorrent entity. A demon that, somehow, had managed to slip through the cracks just long enough to leave its mark on the world.

Ten had been an unwanted blemish in the pages of his mother’s life, one she’d been desperate to erase.

He’d be lying if he said he remembered much about the woman that’d given him life. He remembered that even as a child he’d adored her despite the way the mere sight of him seemed to make her violently ill or the way she never hid her fear. That at four she almost drowned him but couldn’t go through with it. That at seven she sold him to a tall, rugged man who’d carted him away kicking and screaming. Ten thought that he might have inherited his looks from her to a degree, but the flashes of her features in his mind were blurred and fragmented — he hadn’t looked enough like her, though, for her to not see his father in him.

His father.

Since the very moment he’d learnt the truth of what he was his mind had been filled with thoughts of his sire. Of course, he’d known it was a demon and that he could never hope for a true father figure, for a _family_ that would want him, but he’d been young and had let himself dream. All humans had ever done was hurt him, mock him, treat him like something _less_ — would it be different if he were to chase after the darker blood coursing through his veins?

He’d never had anyone remotely capable of answering his questions until he’d met Taemin (who was notably less human than him, even) but the answers he’d gotten hadn’t sparked joy or hope by any means. If anything, they’d stamped such sentiments out entirely. Ten would never forget the way Taemin’s, who’d never strayed much from his careful facade at that point, expression had morphed through a myriad of expressions, none good, before settling on something almost haunted that he’d gotten a glimpse of before he’d managed to hide it.

“Yes, I’ve met my father.”

“Wait, really— what was he like? _How?_ Will you teach me?”

“No.” Ten had flinched at the sharpness in his voice. “No,” Taemin repeated, softer, “you can never try to reach out, Ten. Whatever monsters you think you’ve seen, whatever evil you’ve witnessed, nothing can ever prepare you for them. They’ll draw you in with sweet words and promises of all you’ve ever desired, and then they’ll take you for all they can, and more, and more, until you’re nothing but a puppet doing their bidding. The worst thing is you’ll . . . you won’t _know_. Not until it’s too late, if ever. You’ll think what you’re doing is right, that it’s _righteous_ , that they would never lead you astray — that they love you.”

The elder had turned to face him with his lips pressed into a thin line. “Demons are nothing but a sum of all the worst things in life. There is no good in them, and no love, Ten. Mark my words.”

Taemin had never told him much about his earlier life in grand detail and certainly nothing extenuating about his father — of which he only had a name — but Ten had always known that there was a painful, terrible history hiding in his past when it came to his demonic sire. He’d given up on childish dreams a long time ago and had come to hope that he never ran into his own sire. He’d certainly never wanted to meet Taemin’s.

Perhaps it was because the blood that flowed through his own veins was demonic in nature, or maybe it was something else, but either way the moment Ten finally managed to drag himself into the room despite the crushing weight of the magic around him he _knew_ the man before him was no man at all — even if it was wearing the face of the man he loved. _This_ was why Taemin had warned him against summoning demons.

Asmodeous didn’t even spare a glance in his direction — like he was nothing. In the eyes of a demon, he was worth nothing; only a half-breed, not strong enough to be a vessel or carry out their will to the fullest extent. A pawn at best.

“Killing me would kill you too, sorcerer.”

 _Shit._ Ten knew that Sicheng wasn’t stable by any means at the moment and that the man was prone to extremes in the names of those he cared for, but he’d never imagined that the other would ever be so utterly foolish and suicidal as to not only summon an incredibly powerful demon but threaten it, try to strike a bargain. There were moments in life where you simply knew that there was no coming out of a situation unscathed, and this, this was one of those moments.

The air was practically vibrating around Taeyong where he stood a few feet back from the circle and Ten almost crumbled before he reached the other. His hands came up to grab desperately at the fae, not only to steady himself, but to let that familiar wave of magic wash over him and clear his mind. The power Asmodeous wielded called to every inch of him; to put it simply, his body knew that the demon was superior in every way, that he was something to be obeyed rather than challenged. It made him want to submit. “You need to calm down,” he managed quietly. “They feed off negative emotions. Fear, anger. Don’t let him in.”

“Taemin—“

“He’ll be okay.” Even as the warlock spoke those words they didn’t strike true in his own heart, Taemin was, in his mind, the strongest person he’d ever known — even he wasn’t invincible in the face of such a foe. Not only was Asmodeous infinitely stronger than Taemin he also held power over him that Ten didn’t fully understand to this day. “Taemin is strong,” he tried to reassure both Taeyong and himself at the same time. “We can’t break the circle, no matter what.”

“But Taemin—“

“Taemin’s is comprised of more demon than human and Asmodeous’s blood runs through his veins,” Yuta interrupted tightly, “his body can contain Asmodeous’s power. If we break the circle, he can wreak havoc on the world as you’ve never dreamt of. We can’t break it, Taeyong, even for Taemin.”

A familiar voice let out an amused chuckle that was ice cold. “Fae have always been so _sentimental_.” Asmodeous spat the word like it was an insult even if there was a grin stretched across the face he wore. “It’s pathetic. You could be so much more, little fae, if only you’d give yourself to me — you’d still be able to have him.” He had to physically hold Taeyong back, his heart aching at the strangled, angry sob that tore its way from the other’s throat as he writhed in his grip. Ten couldn’t be angry, not when he knew the pain.

It was one of the worst feelings in the world. ‘One of’ just because Ten had endured a lot during his years including what had, at the time, been a very real loss only a few months ago. The curtains had yet to draw on tonight but Ten already knew in the pit of his stomach that it wasn’t going to go well. It was utterly agonising to stand there and be unable to help those he loved; he wasn’t strong enough to save Taemin from this, he couldn’t stop Sicheng without breaking the circle and unleashing Asmodeous on the world, or shoulder the pain that Taeyong was feeling. He had no shame or reluctance in admitting that the pair shared a bond that even he couldn’t quite understand. It was something magical. Something that he knew in that moment had to be absolute torture.

“We don’t have all night,” Sicheng insisted as he dragged his fingers slowly through some of the tacky blood that was cooling on his chest. It was no longer falling freely from the cut there as it’d been before but instead it had started to congeal, clinging to his skin and stretching between his chest and hand in thin tendrils. “You’ll give me enough to defeat her and keep order.” It wasn’t a request, but rather a demand.

Asmodeous arched a dark brow. “And what shall I get in return? Such power demands a hefty price, little sorcerer. I’m not sure you could offer me an equal trade even if you wanted to.” Rather than looking concerned Sicheng just offered a weak smile and sighed as he strode closer.

“You said it yourself — there’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for power,” the shorter figure mused as his hand settled delicately over Asmodeous’s chest and traced aimless patterns on the bare skin of his host. “I thought you’d be far more appreciative of my offering, considering you’ve been after him for so long.”

Silence followed his words and stretched on for what seemed like a heavy eternity before a number of things seemed to occur all at once. First, Asmodeous laughed with a sadistic sort of glee, and then Taeyong broke free from his grip and lunged towards the circle; before he could get within a foot of the invisible barrier both he and Taeyong were being flung back by an insurmountable surge of magic that had them (albeit gently, but firmly) pinned in place against the stone wall. Ten bared his teeth and struggled against the tendrils of magic wrapped around him with little effort as complete and utter desperation surged through every inch of his body, eclipsed by the dangerous cocktail of terror and rage that’d flared at the realisation of Sicheng’s words.

He— gods, _no,_ he wouldn’t— no, he c _ouldn’t_ let this happen. It’d been traumatic enough to live through months of his life thinking he’d lost Taeyong and, in another sense, possibly Lucas, but now they were all together again and they were on the verge of losing Taemin. Taemin, who’d taught him how to harness his magic without sacrificing his own body. Taemin, who’d sworn there’d never be shame between them. Taemin, who’d saved them time and time again and offered up his very soul as proof of his love and devotion. Taemin — who’d shouldered their anger and had risked wasting away to ease their pain.

“Stop!” Ten all but screamed, his frenzied shouts mixing with Taeyong’s; he wasn’t even sure who he was yelling at. Asmodeous for doing this, Sicheng for letting it happen, or Yuta for trapping them like this as he stepped up to the edge of the circle and begged and pleaded with Sicheng in low words even as the other tried to ignore him and go through with his bargain. “Don’t you dare— let me out! I swear to everything I’ll never forgive you for this! You hurt him and I’ll— I’ll—“ he shifted into a furious mix of a growl and scream as he hit his head back against the stone painfully. For a split second, he thought he _almost_ caught a glimpse of pain in Sicheng’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as he noticed.

“Sicheng, please — this isn’t _you_. Don’t do this.” Yuta’s pleading seemed to fall on deaf ears as Sicheng stared into his eyes and scoffed.

“How would you know? You know nothing about me.”

“I know that everything you do, you do for your people. I know they’d be lost without you. I know that you’re not the monster you pretend to be — _you’re a good ma_ —“

“Shut up!” It wasn’t even that Sicheng screamed the words (because in truth it wasn’t an overly loud shout by any means, certainly not as loud as Ten’s), but the ragged agony evident in his voice, the way his eyes seemed to glisten in the candlelight . . . if Ten hadn’t been in such a state it would’ve hurt to witness it. He couldn’t see Yuta’s face from where he was stuck but he could see the way a wave of tension rolled over his body; he couldn’t help but liken it to the way someone looked when they’d been physically struck.

“You don’t have to fight the world alone,” the fae still managed tensely, pleading.

Sicheng simply averted his eyes as Asmodeous ducked his head down to drag his tongue through the blood caked at his chest and draw more forth. A blood pact, then. The very ground beneath them was rocked with tremors as dark tendrils started to seep from Asmodeous’s skin, the promised power reaching out to wrap around Sicheng’s body as a silent offering.

Ten didn’t know what came next, but he knew this wasn’t it. Sicheng twisted, drawing all that magic forth into his body even as blood started to drip from his nose and reached out to slam his palm forcefully into Asmodeous’s chest, right above a bloody sigil he’d traced there whilst everyone had been distracted. The demon let out a choked noise as he was thrown backwards; his back collided with the invisible wall of the circle and he fell to the ground in a heap, small tremors wracking through his body as that outpour of magic seemed to double — triple, even.

“ _You fool_ ,” Asmodeous hissed, but for the first time there was a hint of something more in his voice. Something vulnerable as he seethed. “You could never hope to control my power — stop this now, before it kills you.”

The sorcerer stared at him with a bloody, weak smile and let one of his stained hands raise up to point towards Asmodeous. “You were right about me. I’ll give up anything for power. I don’t expect others to pay my debts, though.” The demon was hit by a wave of magic so strong that even Ten, meters away, trembled under the force of it. Taemin’s body was surrounded by shadows which seemed to erupt from within his body — pure, unfiltered magic — and then he went completely limp and slumped down to the ground.

Ten screamed and, when the magic binding him suddenly faltered, he surged forward.

—

Taemin had never wanted to see all the inner working of Sicheng’s mind — had never even considered it — but he doubted Sicheng would have wanted him to, anyway. A tragic consequence of them combining their magic to summon a demon.

His father.

Even though part of him wanted to rip the other limb from limb and make him suffer for the betrayal there was another part of him that, albeit reluctantly, admitted that he understood _why_ he’d done it, at least from Sicheng’s perspective. Sicheng really did think that this was the only possible course of action that would keep his family safe. More than that, he knew that he hadn’t _wanted_ any of this.

“Won’t you look at me, Taemin?”

His jaw twitched ever so slightly as he stared out the splintered window across the makeshift yard that surrounded the house. Every single detail of this imaginary place was a spot-on replication of the home he’d grown up in, or, rather, how it’d looked the last time he’d seen it. Now . . . well, he doubted that there was any sign this little cabin even existed anymore. Taemin certainly didn’t want to go back and check. It’d be too soon if he never set his eyes on it ever again.

The pads of his fingers brushed over the charred remnants of the window swill and he swallowed back a shaky sigh. It felt like yesterday he’d watched those flames lick over the walls.

“ _Taemin_.” The voice sounded right behind him yet the warlock still refused to budge his gaze even an inch. “Don’t tell me you’re _still_ sulking about what happened, son.”

 _Just a little bit longer_ , Taemin tried to mentally reassure himself even as rage bubbled up in his chest again and threatened to spill. He couldn’t react — couldn’t give Asmodeous exactly what he was aiming for. Demons — _true demons_ — fed on negativity, in any form they could get it.

“That’s okay,” the demon sighed; the underlying smile in his voice was audible. “We have all the time in the world to make up. Right, son?” He gritted his teeth together so painfully that his jaw popped and the dull ache he’d been focusing on shifted to something a little sharper. It required all the restraint he possessed to keep himself from responding and going for the bait. Taemin would surmise that the only thing worse than eternity with his father was losing those he loved, but the thing was, well, being trapped in his mind as his father used his body to carry out his desires . . . that eternity would be one without them, one where they’d likely die regardless. There was a reason that demons weren’t supposed to be capable of stepping into this dimension. Someone like Asmodeous was more than capable of annihilating everything he knew and held dear and he'd do it, just because he could.

A firm hand perched on his shoulder and before he could shrug it off the view before him shattered into a million pieces; for a moment, there was nothing but darkness. No, not even darkness, just . . . _nothing_. Taemin couldn’t help but wonder if he was dead.

Then his eyes opened.

The first thing that he could really process was the hands moving over his body. One set was cradling his head ever so gently as hot tears dripped down onto his face, gently caressing his hair in a way that made him want to close his eyes again as they struggled to focus on his surroundings. Another set was moving over his chest and flooding magical energy back into his body steadily, filling his body ever so slowly with warmth even if it hadn’t reached the iciness of his fingers and toes yet. There was one placed directly over his heart. There was so much noise, from agonised grunts and gasps to the sobbing overhead, desperate pleas that, like the other sounds, came across like he was underwater. Like his vision, though, they were ever so slowly clearing up.

“You’re going to be okay,” he finally discerned from the chatter — _Taeyong_. Soft, damp lips pressed to his forehead and he groaned as another wave of energy surged down to his core and caused his whole body to tremble. It was so pure in every sense; it felt like morning kisses and secret smiles as it gently licked through his veins and brought back the sensation that he hadn’t even registered had been lacking from his body. It was like the most intense feeling of pins and needles he’d ever experienced.

Taemin let out a shaky breath and relaxed under their hands as his head slowly lolled to the side and his cheek came to rest on the frigid stone underneath. His eyelids felt like lead weights but he refused to let them close. “We’re here, Taemin. Everything is going to be okay.” He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch when slender fingers ever so gently brushed over his cheek and under his eye to wipe away the moisture there — moisture that he realised was tears, tears he hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. Even with knowing the gist of Sicheng’s plan, he . . . gods, he’d been terrified.

 _Sicheng_.

Malevolent energy whipped through the room in vicious streams that spoke of unhindered power beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. They were centred around the figure that was hovering perhaps two feet above the stone floor in the middle of the room, hitting him with so much force it almost looked painful, pulling at his robes and greedily sinking down into his skin as he drew the magic into his own body. There was blood smeared over Sicheng’s face, more of the crimson fluid still dripping from his nose and the corner of his mouth, his teeth stained pink and red where they were gritted — even the tears that fell from his eyes were tinged pink as they cut through the mess on his cheeks. The skin beneath was deathly pale and his eyes were filled with desperation and agony.

It was killing him, but he wasn’t stopping.

Taemin was helpless to do anything — he couldn’t raise his head, let alone help — but his heart seized despite himself. He didn’t like Sicheng very much, no, but he . . . he understood him. He knew the boy he’d once been and the man he was now and that man, he didn’t deserve to die, _especially_ not like this.

He wasn’t alone, though. Somehow, against the odds, Yuta had managed to work his way through the bulk of the energy swirling around him even though it was desperately trying to keep him back. The fae was covered in a plethora of small, fine cuts which seemed to decorated any uncovered skin he could see — a result of the magic — yet he still kept pushing forward until he couldn’t anymore, just out of arm’s reach of his target. “ _Sicheng_.” The only word to describe his voice was desperate. “Don’t do this. Please.”

“If you stop me, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.”

“If I don’t, you won’t be around to hate me.” Sicheng opened his mouth to bite back a reply but all that came out was a strangled, anguished scream that tore through the room as the veins in his throat shifted from blue-green to a dark grey.

“ _I can do this_ ,” Sicheng barely managed. Blood spilt from his body as he heaved and choked on the liquid rising in his throat but he only continued to draw all that magic further into his body. How he wasn’t dead already . . . Taemin really didn’t know. He— he needed to help. There was not a single inch of him that wanted any more of his father, including his magic, flowing through his body, but for them — for all of them — he could do it. It’d never been so difficult to move his fingers before, nor to call upon his own magic, but after a few failed attempts the spark finally caught and he _pulled_ , even as his hand trembled from where he’d raised it a few mere centimetres above where it’d laid.

The magic filled him with life but it also made his stomach roll.

“You can’t — this magic isn’t made for humans, Sicheng,” Yuta shouted furiously above all the noise. “There is another way, even if you don’t see it. I’m not going to let you die!”

“I don’t need your help _. I don’t want it_. Can’t you get that through your thick skull? You follow me around like a lost puppy and it makes me _sick_ , Yuta — you’re pathetic. I’d rather die than ask for your help.” The pain that flashed through the fae’s eyes was akin to if Sicheng had ripped his still-beating heart out of his chest with his bare hands; for all intents and purposes, he had.

Yuta straightened his shoulders and softened his voice to the point it was barely audible to Taemin’s ears. “This isn’t about me. It’s about them — like it always has been. What good are you to them dead, Sicheng? Do you really think they’ll just go on without you if you fail? That they’ll accept your noble sacrifice? That they’ll survive any of this without you?”

“You wouldn’t let them die—“ Sicheng’s voice cracked.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Yuta admitted. “But I’m no replacement, and like you said, they’re not my people. They need you. They need you _alive_.” The tears on Sicheng’s cheeks doubled even as he struggled to keep his head upright and more violent convulsions wracked his body. The amount of energy he’d already sucked into his body was beyond a death sentence; it was only a matter of time, even with the amount Taemin was drawing into his own to stop him from taking more.

“Fae are selfish creatures, Sicheng, andI can’t let you die — _please_ , let me help you.”

The seconds stretched onwards for an eternity before Sicheng shuddered and dropped down to the stone beneath him; he crumpled into Yuta’s arms like he was already dead and just barely managed to bring his head up enough to meet his eyes as the energy around them still tried to find a way into his body even though it’d been shut out. “I thought I could be strong enough.” His lips formed the words but he barely had the breath to put behind them. Yuta’s hand (the one that wasn’t holding him against his chest) cradled his bloody jaw and cheek ever so delicately. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” Sicheng’s shoulders jiggled in some semblance of a chuckle. “I can feel it.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Why have you . . . I don’t deserve your kindness, but . . . please, Yuta, look after them—“

“Do it yourself,” Yuta laughed weakly, his voice strained and eyes glassy as he brushed back some blood-matted hair. The fae dipped his head down without hesitation and let his lips hover above Sicheng’s, so close that the gap was almost inexistent, before inhaling. It almost looked as though they were kissing. To anyone who didn’t know better, it would.

Taemin had only ever seen this once before: the day Taeyong had taken in some of Lucas’s energy to clear his mind. Such a small amount yet it’d left him incredibly ill and weak. Pure demonic energy which seemed to be all but poison to fae. He tried to open his mouth but no words came out, just air.

“Yuta?” Taeyong called with a voice dripping with concern. “Yuta— stop. _Stop_. It’ll kill you.” The white-haired fae broke away from him as Ten took his spot and stumbled over to try and intervene, only to be shut out by Yuta himself who’d surrounded them with an invisible wall. Taeyong pounded and screamed and the anguish in his voice made Taemin wish he could’ve saved him from all of this, but it had no effect until Yuta began to grow weaker; the darkness had undoubtedly taken root in his core and was trying to devour him but still, the fae held strong and refused to stop pulling as much of the malevolent energy from Sicheng as he could.

By the time Taeyong was able to break through the wards, Yuta had already slumped to the floor as one last tendril slipped down his throat with Sicheng equally unconscious and tangled in his arms. Even as Taemin finally managed to sit up he couldn’t tell if either of them were still alive. He let out a shaky sigh and finally let his eyes flicker close again as he heard footsteps and desperate shouts echo down the hallway. Somehow, Asmodeous always managed to get the last laugh, even if he was as good as dead for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:  
>  _  
>  All around him, Liu Daiyu’s castle burns. The blood of her people stains his skin and clothes. As the monster of a man in front of him takes his last breath he allows himself to revel in the way the light leaves his eyes; for the first time, he embraces the energy that he steals away into his own lungs. _


	23. chapter twenty three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is finally served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that this chapter is late! Feel free to skip this A/N since this might be a little long but in short don't worry, life has been crazy but updates will still be regular
> 
> It's been pretty rough. My mental health has been pretty abysmal but I've also been dealing with family stress and bad migraines, as well as lots of medical appointments. Without going into it too much I'm being tested for absence seizures and am waiting on an appointment with a specialist. My anxiety also causes frequent dissociation at varying levels which can often make writing hard when I'm going through a rough time, even if all I want to do is write. Also, I'm doing four classes this semester and they're keeping me very busy.  
> Please be patient with me ;; updates will still be once each week, give or take a few days sometimes! 
> 
> On a happier note, I'm can't believe how close we are to this fic being finished! Only a few more chapters and the epilogue. Once again, you don't have to worry about things being over because there will be companion fics which will feature all our main boys pretty often, and focus more on side characters we've grown so fond of. I have so much more to write in this universe, and thanks to everyone who's supported me and this series I have the confidence to actually write them.
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and taking care of yourself ♡

All around him, Liu Daiyu’s castle burned. The blood of her people stained his skin and clothes. As the monster of a man in front of him took his final breath he allowed himself to revel in the way the light left his eyes; for the first time, he embraced the energy that he stole away into his own lungs. Taeyong let out a shaky breath and let his eyes flicker closed as the breeze caused the blood on his skin to begin to cool. There was no more fighting the power that coursed through his veins, no more fearing it, no more running from it — not when he could use it to protect those he held dear.

Taeyong had never had a chance of being any sort of match for the horror that Sicheng had summoned last night, but he could have been _more_ than he was. If he didn’t learn the extents of his power how could he ever hope to be able to control it? To use it properly? He was undeniably behind in his progress but it wasn’t like he’d grown up knowing what he had magic. That in itself had put him at a disadvantage, and the way he’d been acquainted with his magic properly for the first time . . . it’d scared him.

His magic came from the earth — from life itself. The idea that he could harness power from any living thing and, subsequently, their death . . . as someone who’d spent his whole life healing and saving lives, it’d been utterly unthinkable.

Calloused fingers dragged over his jaw and Taeyong forced his gaze up so that he could meet Jongin’s eyes. They were ringed by dark circles and his lips were pressed into a thin line, but there was a fire buzzing behind those warm-brown orbs that ignited something in his own chest. “How are you doing?” The other asked with obvious concern. It was understandable given that Taeyong had a bad track record of freaking out whenever he got blood on his hands — figuratively and literally — but this time it wasn’t necessary. It was hard to fathom how such a small realisation could have such an astronomical effect on his psyche. If anything, he felt . . .

“I’m good,” Taeyong promised as he covered Jongin’s hand with his own and squeezed while his free hand reached for the spear by his side. Everything was dialled up to eleven; the weighted metal felt perfectly balanced in his hand even though he’d never once wielded it or anything of the sort before and as the wind brushed by he smiled, rearing his hand back and sending the spear flying with half his momentum. It hit home with a heavy _thud_ that his ears picked up as though it was right beside him rather than dozens of meters away in the chest of an archer who’d been aiming at them.

Taeyong didn’t feel quite human, but he found that he didn’t mind.

Because he felt _strong_.

Jongin’s head whipped back around and those beautiful stared at him in surprise for a moment before he offered an awestruck sort of smile despite the situation. Taeyong wasn’t quite sure why, but, well, it was endearing. “She’s locked herself in her quarters. Should we bust it down?”

“You’re the king,” Taeyong pointed out, “shouldn’t it be your call?”

“And get in the way of you and Ten?” Jongin snorted as they made their way over to the prone body. He pulled the spear from it with practised ease and wiped the blood staining one side on the side of his pants that were already soaked from multiple similar motions. “No way. I hate her for everything she’s done to them, but . . . not like you. Just promise me you’ll be careful?”

“She’s no threat alone,” he promised, but it didn’t remove the tightness in Jongin’s shoulders. “Jongin . . . you don’t have to worry about me.” They came to a stop in front of the large wooden doors which were the entrance to her abode, slain guards at either side and the doors thrown open. “I’m not going to fall apart this time. I’m not going to do anything I’ll regret.” The taller male stared at him for a few long moments before he let out a soft huff and nodded.

“We’re all going to be okay, Taeyong. Once this is over . . . we will. I swear.”

Taeyong stole a sweet kiss from the taller male that lingered for a few seconds before they finally broke apart. It was hard, but he did force himself to push down the ache that had formed in his chest at Jongin’s words — he had to believe it, right? They’d all be okay. _All of them_.

There was a half-dozen of the Weishen soldiers stationed around the ornate door that undoubtedly lead to Lady Liu’s rooms and standing in the centre as he waited for his arrival was Ten. There was no hint of the mischievous smile or twinkle to his eyes that the other male often had, only cold, hard anger and a dangerous sort of anticipation. “Are you sure you’re down for this, Yongie?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Taeyong couldn’t deny that he’d been consumed by his rage and fear last night — then again, he wasn’t sure anyone who’d witnessed what’d happened would’ve fared any differently. His first priorities had been on those who hadn’t escaped the night as physically unscathed as he had. Taemin, who’d suffered beyond what Taeyong could ever comprehend at the hands at his father and had been subjected to him once again, who’d had nearly all his magic ripped from his body as Asmodeous had tried to hang on during Sicheng’s unexpected plan, had been a mess. His father was essentially dead for now — void of magic and banished back to his own dimension — but his marks would remain, both mental and physical.

His and Ten’s efforts to restore some of that depleted energy had kept him stable long enough for him to siphon some of his father’s magic from the air and start healing himself. By the time the house had awoken properly (given that Sicheng had magicked them to sleep sound so that there’d be no interruptions, something that hadn’t worked on any of the fae and something that Zitao had lifted from Ten) Taemin had been strong enough to stand. He’d been coherent enough to placate the others when they started to realise what had happened. The fact he’d latched onto whoever he could had definitely aided in stopping the chaos from continuing.

“He deceived me,” Taemin had admitted in the early hours of the morning. His head had been pillowed on Jongin’s thighs and Baekhyun was at his back, Mark far too happy to occupy the space in his arms. Lucas had come and gone, torn between rooms. “But as much as I hate to admit it . . . he truly meant no harm. He’d been lead to be certain he could do it.”

It didn’t change things much, not really. Regardless of his intentions, what Sicheng had done wasn’t something that could be easily forgiven, even by Taeyong who’d become fond of him. Beneath all the anger over the fact he’d put Taemin in such danger, there was a sense of betrayal, too, that Sicheng hadn’t trusted any of them enough to help fix this issue. Taeyong had hoped that Sicheng had seen him as a friend, at least.

Then there was the matter of Yuta.

“Sicheng is stable for now.” Kun’s voice was hoarse and his eyes red-rimmed where he’d sat beside Sicheng’s bed, the others gathered around and filling the space with solemn silence. “If he makes it till dawn then he has a chance of recovering, but the damage . . . the healers said it’s a miracle he’s still breathing.”

“It’s no miracle,” Taeyong had pointed out as his fingers tightened on the doorframe. It’d nearly splintered under his grip.

“You’re right,” Dejun'd agreed. “It’s not. Yuta gave him a chance. We’re not going to forget that, Taeyong, and we’ll do everything we can to bring him back.”

Yuta. Part of Taeyong wanted to kill him for being so foolish, but mostly he just wanted more than anything for the other fae to wake up. The dark-haired male had always been so lively and full of energy, yet now he was confined to a bed, no more than a body laying on dark sheets with a heartbeat that was barely audible even to his own years and skin as cold as ice. He was alive, but _barely_. His mind, body and magic all seemed completely catatonic save for the fact that it seemed to be fighting to filter through the malevolent energy which he’d taken into his own body to try and save Sicheng — every so often, a faint, dark wisp would rise from his skin and dissipate. No one knew when he’d wake up, if ever, and even Taeyong’s magic couldn’t seem to be able to help.

Everyone’s actions and choices were undeniably their own, but the poison at the heart of everything was Lady Liu. There was no better way to get rid of the infection than cut off the head of the snake. Burn it out.

An agonised scream tore through his internal monologue and Taeyong blinked a few times, slowly, before his lips curled at the edges and he turned his gaze back to the ongoing show. To be completely honest, they’d barely touched her — there were things you could do to someone to break them down to nothing without so much as laying a finger on them. That being said Ten had certainly taken on a far more hand’s on approach than himself. Taeyong certainly couldn’t judge the older male for the joy he seemed to be taking in her torment; Ten was able to move through the flickering shadows in the room like he’d never had a corporeal form to start with, whipping around her intangibly in a way that even now had her head snapping around, stumbling as she tried to figure out where the next attack — physical or mental — would come from.

Her luscious robes were torn in places and stained with dirt and blood, something which translated well onto her skin, too. Small, rough cuts where vanishing nails had dragged over her cheek or blossoming bruises from where a cruel laugh by her ear had sent her falling. Liu Daiyu no longer looked like the ethereal, perfect mistress she’d presented as for so long, but rather a terrified little girl. It was immensely satisfying.

Taeyong let out an even chuckle from where he was reclining on her throne and crossed his legs delicately at the knee as he watched. “I can make it stop, Daiyu — don’t you want it to stop?” The fae hummed. At first, it seemed as though the woman didn’t even hear his words let alone consider them, not when she’d taken to curling in on herself and rocking to and fro with her hands desperately clawed over his ears as Ten filled her mind with horrors that would drive anyone mad. There was no elegance in her movements, no pride, just frenzied desperation.

She nodded frantically and dug nails into the side of her head so harshly she was sure to bleed— another warbled noise that could hardly be considered a scream at this point was wrenched from her. Pale hands slid ever so slowly over her shoulders as lips whispered incorrigible nightmares against the shell of her ear; glowing eyes met his own across the room.

“All you have to do is ask for a kiss, sweetie, and it’ll be over.” The recognition that flashed across her features was to be expected. How many times had she uttered those same words as she relished in the suffering of others, as she tried to break them down, extinguish any hint of resistance of spirit that still remained? How many times had she taunted Jeno with the same offer, both for his own sake and Jaemin’s?

“ _Please_ ,” she wailed as she scampered across the bloodied tiles and away from the warlock behind her to clutch at her legs. Only nights prior she’d looked down her nose at him with a heady mix of desire not only for his face but his power, too, and now those tear-stained emerald eyes looked up at him desperately like a worshipper. “Please, I’ll do anything, please make it _stop—_ “

“Shhh,” he intervened, soft yet firm as he sat forward and cupped her jaw to draw her up closer. His fingers wiped some of the blood from her cheek with a condescending click of his tongue — like a mother scolding a child.

“Would you really deny me my fun?” Ten huffed petulantly from a few feet away. “Surely you can’t be considering letting her live, Taeyong.”

“Surely there’s no need for her to die if she’s learnt her lesson?” Emerald eyes lit up with hope and surety that made him want to laugh as she leaned into his touch and watched him through her lashes. “Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste such beauty? Such power? You’ve learnt your lesson, haven’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied before repeating the word over and over as she swore on any gods she could recall that she’d change. She promised him riches and power and a place in her bed should he so desire, any man or woman he wanted from her court. Some things never changed. He watched as Ten’s eyes widened ever so slightly in the beginnings of understanding as he shushed her with a finger to her lips.

All Taeyong did was ever so briefly press their lips together — it was Daiyu, forever greedy, who pressed forward with the confidence of someone who was so sure they’d won and demanded more. It was incredibly difficult not to smile as she took more and more, licking into his mouth; it made his skin crawl and his stomach heave yet the way the sticky sweetness lingering on his tongue was swept away left him with a sense of immense gratification. It’d been inevitable that her greed, which had brought her so much,would also be her downfall.

She pulled back with a furrow between her brows and dilated pupils that seemed to be having trouble focusing on him. Her lips were smeared with a dark, watery liquid so sweet he could smell it even from here. Daiyu doubled over a little and clutched her stomach as a pained gasp was pulled from her lips — her eyes snapped up at him with confusion and fear and, the best one, _betrayal_ as she began to sway.

“What did you _do?_ ” she attempted to hiss but the words were slurred as she tried to rise from her knees — that was a failed attempt, too, because all it resulted in her was her managing to drag herself a few feet back before she couldn’t move her own weight. 

Taeyong made a show of licking his lips as he leant further back into the throne and flipped the little vial in his fingers over his knuckles with ease. There was still the faintest amount of residue in the bottom, as well as a scrawled inscription on its label that made Daiyu even paler as she began to retch and desperately try to bring up the poison. Ten just stared on in disbelief as fresh tears adorned her cheeks. “How—“

“My magic comes from the earth, Daiyu — nothing it creates could kill me.” Taeyong had spun into a panic the first time he’d seen Yuta down some of those fatal berries like they were candy, but he hadn’t hesitated in letting the liquid fill his mouth before he’d entered the room. Given that the poison had been made from the roots rather than the berries or leaves, because Ten would only ever provide him with the best, she didn’t have long.

The white-haired fae pushed himself up off the chair smoothly and strode forward at a leisurely pace to stop in front of her. The deepest, darkest recesses of his mind had been filled with endless ways to end her life, most of them long and drawn out far more than necessary, conjured simply for the satisfaction of seeing her suffer and scream; it was oddly freeing to acknowledge that he could execute any number of them and not feel an inch of remorse or guilt. He _could_ do that, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t worthy of anyone’s time, even in death.

“Everything you’ve strived for, everything you’ve accomplished . . . it’ll have been for nothing. No one will remember your name. Even after everything you’ll still be a no one, Liu Daiyu — not even as much as a mark in history. In a hundred years, no one will know that you ever even existed. Your legacy will amount to . . . well, _nothing_.”

With as much force as she could muster, she spat — her beautiful features had already given way to the ugly truth hiding underneath. “ _Monster._ ”

“Probably,” Taeyong answered without missing a beat. “Have fun, Daiyu.” He ignored the way she shifted to ragged begging and pleading as her body began to shut down or the way she tried to clutch at his leg as he stepped over her with the weakest of fingers. Instead, he slid his arm around Ten’s waist and left as the heavy doors slammed closed behind them.

—

Jongin couldn’t say that he’d ever been around children growing up, whether that meant people his age or younger. _Before_ everything he’d been a prince, one that had been moderately coddled by his mother, and his mother had only ever wanted the best for him. Despite his royal status he’d been rather shy when it came to the other children he came across — whether it was the children of royals or servants or even his own cousins, it made no distance — and he’d never had many friends. After, though, he’d had Mark. Mark had been all he’d needed for a long time and by the time others started joining their band of misfits he’d been older.

Despite the fact he had minimal experience he . . . well, he liked children. That being said, they weren’t exactly children, were they? Renjun and Chenle were only a few years younger than Mark, just like their newest additions they’d brought home with them that night, and the others were Mark’s age and older. Jongin never would’ve described any of them as vulnerable in the past yet after everything that’d happened recently they looked younger than ever, and he found that he couldn’t help but keep an eye out for them.

It’d been two days since that fateful night and the hellish day which had followed but neither Yuta nor Sicheng had woken up yet. They weren’t dead, at least, but none of them knew if their current state would ever improve. Things were, _finally_ , peaceful — but the sombre mood which had fallen over the house rather than something victorious and lively was far from something to celebrate.

He couldn’t quite fathom why any of them would be intimidated by him. Jongin was often quiet around others, yes, but he always aimed to be polite and friendly; it’d only been mildly relieving for Mark to tell him that it wasn’t what he did but the simple matter of who he was. Apparently his resting face wasn’t very inviting. Then again, given the experiences these boys had had with people in positions of power throughout their lives Jongin felt like it was understandable they’d be wary. Jongin found it easier than he should’ve, sometimes, to forget he was a king — they had a right to fixate on it.

They’d looked like startled owls when he’d approached them and asked if they’d accompany him out into the forest, eyes as wide as saucers and mouths agape. But they’d agreed. Any apprehensions had been swept away when Kun, who’d barely even ventured from Sicheng’s bedside (like the others) for the past few days, had clapped a hand over his shoulder and thanked him with weary eyes and a tight smile. “It’ll do Renjun and Chenle good to take their minds off things. Thank you.”

“I meant it when I said we’d look after your people like they’re our own.”

“Even after . . .” Kun had trailed off with a grimace but the words hadn’t needed to be said out loud for Jongin to guess them.

“Sicheng’s actions were his own. I . . . none of it was okay, but he’s not a bad man — even if he was it wouldn’t reflect on any of your people,” Jongin had managed to convey after a few moments of deliberation. Despite his initial rage and the want for blood after what’d happened, he had calmed significantly (dealing with Lady Liu had likely helped with that) and repeated talks with his lovers had lowered things to a more manageable level. Was he pissed that Taemin had been put in such danger and that, for the first time, it was Taemin who was stirring in the night from nightmares? Without a doubt. Was he going to gut Sicheng for it? Well . . . no. He trusted Taemin’s judgement more than anyone’s and if he didn’t hate Sicheng after what he’d done or want his head then Jongin would respect that.

“Do you think the others would want to come?”

“Kunhang? Yangyang? No, they’re finally getting some sleep and when they wake up they’ll want to see him again.”

Jongin nodded. “If there’s anything else we can do, let us know. They’re . . . they’re lucky to have you, Kun.”

Even if the trip only served a purpose of freeing up some space and keeping the younger boys occupied for a while it’d be worth it; Jongin felt like it’d do them good to have some fresh air and get out of the place for a while, especially if they had a worthy distraction. As far as he knew the pantry was filled with anything they needed right now but it wouldn’t hurt if they did actually manage to bring home something they could eat, though at the same time it wasn’t his sole goal in bringing them out here.

Jongin had never had siblings but he couldn’t deny that he had a natural instinct to care for others, even if he felt as though he wasn’t very good at it; despite the fact he preferred his own company at times he couldn’t deny it was nice to have quiet chatter following him through the forest. It wasn’t a hassle at all to look out for them, even if it was evident they had a penchant for getting up to no good.

Chenle and Renjun had been much quieter than usual as of late but there wasn’t as much tightness in their faces as they walked along old, worn tracks and occasionally shoved each other with weak laughter — the more they walked the more relaxed they seemed, the more they looked like their normal selves. Renjun wasn’t as loud but he was definitely a troublemaker in his own way once you realised he wasn’t as shy as he first appeared.

Jaemin and Jeno, well, they were still a bit of a mystery. Even now, as they started to travel off the path and had to work harder to stay quiet as they navigated the forest, they were practically glued to each other’s side. The latter seemed to be rather quiet despite Jongin’s first impression of him, and Jaemin was . . . well, the first word that came to mind was chaotic. He was much louder, much more energetic and open, yet Jongin could see the walls he’d built up around him and the way that even as he’d smile and laugh his eyes were sharp and calculating; he was always watching everyone, waiting for the other pin to drop. They were incredibly protective of each other— no doubt a result of where they’d come from.

The two Weishen boys had grown up with weapons in their hands and as such, they’d been eager to bring along their own — Chenle with an evenly weighted sword at his belt and Renjun with a bow and arrow — but the others hadn’t brought anything with them but the clothes on their backs. Jeno had politely refused when Jongin had offered one of the hunting knives on his belt and Jaemin had swept in quickly to accept it, reassuring that, “I’ll have a go if we find anything. You and Renjun both have bows, after all — I can just borrow one of those.”

Jeno was built like a fighter, but Jongin was starting to think that it likely wasn’t his choice.

“You’ll teach me, won’t you, Your Majesty?” The boy had asked with a twinkle in his eye that’d made him pause.

“Uh— of course. Just Jongin is fine, though.”

Jaemin still insisted on using that title, though, and each time the words fell from his lips Jongin couldn’t deny that it made him a little uncomfortable. Something about the way his tongue lingered on the words didn’t feel right. It was something he tried to put from his mind as they hunted.

Game didn’t seem to inhabit the immediate area around Weishen House but as they ventured further and further, more signs began to pop up. Jongin was, at worst, an average hunter; his skills were better suited to fighting people but he was still adequate after years of having to learn to hunt their own food if they didn’t want to starve, and whilst he wasn’t as good with a bow as Mark, for example, he was fairly capable.

The silver-haired male slowed his pace and carefully balanced where he stood as he turned just enough that the others could see the way he pressed a finger to his lips to quiet them before pulling an arrow from his quiver and knocking it on the string of his boy. He’d thought they’d get a few rabbits or fowl if they were lucky but they’d hit the jackpot. Through the thicket was a small herd of deer — though deer felt like such an odd word considering how different they were to the deer he was used to hunting back home. These ones were smaller and fluffier with a lighter, even colouring, and beyond that, there were no antlers atop their heads, even on the one he assumed was a buck, just small tusks by their mouth. “Water deer,” Renjun supplied, barely above a whisper.

“Can I try?” Jongin’s first thought was to say no when Jaemin asked. He’d always been a little competitive and stubborn and he _knew_ he could bring one down if he was the one shooting, but then again, he had promised he’d teach Jaemin, and it didn’t matter much if they came back empty-handed. He forced himself to lower the bow and nod as he hesitantly beckoned the younger male forward; he figured the way Jeno’s eyes darkened a little was simply due to the fact Jaemin had left his side.

Uncomfortable. That was the best way to describe how Jongin was feeling. He’d kept a fair amount of space between them as he’d stepped behind Jaemin to readjust his posture and get his hands on the bow but the younger had shuffled back during the process. Too close — too touchy, with how he’d insisted Jongin readjust his grip with his own, how he was expected to help the other draw the string back to the perfect tension and help him aim. After a few moments, he swallowed thickly and pulled back as his skin crawled and watched Jaemin shoot what could only be described as an absolutely perfect shot.

He hadn’t expected that.

The other deer quickly scattered and ran off into the woods as their target staggered and started to drop down to the forest floor but all Jongin could do was stare with furrowed brows. “Are you sure you’ve never hunted before?”

“Never,” the brown-haired male mused in a sing-song voice as he handed the bow back and brushed their fingers together as he let go. “I guess you’re just that good of a teacher, _hyung_.” Jongin had to school his expression so it didn’t twist into something that conveyed how his skin was crawling and instead forced himself to offer a strained little smile; he was far too relieved to turn away and head off to gather up their prize.

It wasn’t like he’d never been the recipient of unwanted advances before but there was something about Jaemin’s behaviour which made him particularly uncomfortable, and that was the fact that behind it all there was no warmth to his attitude or want in his eyes. It was more like he was going through the motions — searching for _something_. It was something that he’d seen before, many, many years ago in the eyes of the boy they’d stolen away from slave traders in the dead of the night. For weeks Ten had played the same games, not only as a hope of maintaining his safety but also to discern what sort of person Jongin really was.

The walk back to Weishen House was fairly uneventful save for the fact that Jaemin had decided to practically plaster himself to Jongin’s side rather than Jeno’s, and that the latter was far from pleased; there was no ignoring the anger and frustration in his eyes or the way his hands were curled into white fists even from where he walked ahead with the others. Every few moments there’d be a pointed glance backwards that Jaemin seemed to ignore.

“Hey— can I speak to you for a second?” He spoke up once the building came back into view. Rather than seeming surprised by the request Jaemin simply grinned and nodded.

“Don’t wait up for me, Jeno! I won’t be too long.” Jongin doubted at the other male wanted to leave him here, but he didn’t know either of them well enough to know what they were thinking, nor what their silent little conversation seemed to be about. The reluctance was palpable. Even so, after a few tense moments Jeno squared his jaw and stormed off after Renjun and Chenle with the stag swung over his shoulder.

The brown-haired boy turned swiftly on his heel once they were alone and smiled up at him with a shine behind his eyelashes as he played up that perfectly coy facade he’d been wearing all day. “What did you want to talk about, hyung?”

“You don’t need to do this. Not here.” There was no beating around the bush this time. Jongin didn’t even hesitate as he reached down to pull the ring off his forefinger and press it into the palm of Jaemin’s hand. It was a heavy ring of pure gold which was far gaudier than anything he ever would’ve gotten for himself, but it was one of the few heirlooms he’d managed to salvage when he’d returned home. Most had been sold off and lost but this ring, his father’s ring, he’d taken off the hand of the man who’d been masquerading as a ruler in his family home. He’d cut it off him, actually. In the centre was a cluster of small sapphires which glittered in the light.

“You don’t need to gain anyone’s favour, Jaemin, especially not mine — no one expects anything of you. I know you might not believe it or trust us, but you’re free. _Both_ of you. You can stay here if you want. If you don’t then you can go anywhere, kid, be anyone you want to be.”

“I—“

“That ring will get you just about anywhere. Even if you sell it for a lower price you’ll still be set for a while. You won’t need to rely on anyone but yourself.” For once, Jaemin seemed to be speechless, so Jongin just squeezed his shoulder and guided the other to close his fingers around the ring. “Come on, let’s not keep them waiting.”

By the time Jongin actually got back upstairs he was more tired than he’d care to admit — more so mentally than physically, though skinning that deer whilst trying to deal with teaching his little group of ducklings had left him with an ache in his shoulder. Taemin hadn’t moved an inch when he’d opened the door but he did lean back against his chest when Jongin draped his arms around the other’s shoulders and all but buried his face into his hair. It wasn’t uncommon to see the other sitting in the bay of the window over the past few days; more often than not it seemed like he was in another world. Even if he was quiet. someone tended to be here with him.

“Good day?” Jongin hummed his assent and pressed a kiss to the warlock’s nape before he settled his chin on his shoulder.

“Yeah. It was, actually. You?” The other was silent for a second before nodding.

“Better, now that you’re here.” Jongin couldn’t help it— as soon as the words reached his ears his cheeks pulled into a wide grin that almost ached and laughter fell from his lips. He shifted around so that he could get a better position and actually face the other and cradle his jaw.

“Since when were you such a sweet talker, Min?”

Taemin seemed to melt under his touch. All the tension drained from his body and those plush lips pulled into an absolutely radiant little smile that had his heart hammering in his chest as the other simply leant into his touch and kissed his palm. “Since . . .” his voice trailed off and rather than trying to search for words, Jongin found himself simply swept closer into the other’s arms a way that had him smiling even harder. “Since I wanted to be.”

Things had been hard, lately, but they’d get better. He had faith in that — in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _“Good morning,” a smooth voice hummed from somewhere above him. Nails scratched gently at his scalp and he melted into a pile of mush against the elder’s chest. “Sleep well?”_
> 
> _“Like a baby,” Mark slurred. He knew there was a dopey smile on his face, albeit a hidden one, but he didn’t care._
> 
> _“You drool like one.”_


	24. chapter twenty four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say the most beautiful skies come after the worst storms. Maybe they were right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me for being a few days late, again ;;; I've had lots of assessments due for university and unfortunately, they've had to be a priority. But hey! One more chapter and then the epilogue, which will be two parts, and Bloodlines will be finished! Can you believe that I only started ALW in February this year, because I sure can't. 
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡
> 
> (ALSO! Feel free to leave me a message here, twitter or cc, about what sort of bonuses you'd like to see in this series. I have fics planned for side characters which will feature our main boys, but are there specific things/scenes you'd like to see? Let me know! I'd love to do some requests for you all to pay you back for all your love and support)

They’d given up on separate sleeping arrangement nights almost a week ago so it wasn’t too odd to wake up with too many limbs in his personal space and long fingers playing with his hair. Mark knew before he even opened his eyes that it was Taemin; the other had never really been distant, at least not for a long time, but as of late he’d been much more open with his affections. He figured it was no doubt due to what had happened that night. Mark hadn’t witnessed it in person, but he’d seen the aftermath the next day and every day since.

“Good morning,” a smooth voice hummed from somewhere above him. Nails scratched gently at his scalp and he melted into a pile of mush against the elder’s chest. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Mark slurred. He knew there was a dopey smile on his face, albeit a hidden one, but he didn’t care.

“You drool like one.” Mark’s eyes snapped open and he huffed playfully before reaching across Taemin to shove gently at Lucas who was very awake and looked ridiculously handsome for someone who’d just woken. Even his human lovers seemed too perfect to be human, sometimes. “Hey! I was just telling the truth—“

“Quiet, Lucas.” Taemin’s voice was incredibly tender and filled with affectionate warmth even when his words were lightly scolding. “It’s still early. Besides, it’s rather adorable.” An affronted (but hushed) noise left Mark’s lips at the fact that, rather than defending his honour, the older male had sided with Lucas. He didn’t speak up and argue, or whine, because he wasn’t a _kid_ , but if he huffed and puffed and pouted a little after he wiped the dried spit from the corner of his mouth then so be it — that could be his little secret. “Don’t pout, Mark — I’m just teasing.”

He was. Mark _knew_ he was. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t used to this, because Taemin had always been naturally mischievous even if he was usually more subtle in his teasing, but more so that he wasn’t really used to _this_. Even if he hadn’t really been able to describe Taemin as distant or closed-off for a very long time he’d never seen the older be this open, especially not so consistently. After what’d happened . . . there was no denying that things had shifted. Rather than letting his actions speak for him, Taemin seemed to be constantly pushing himself to put everything into words, to show everything as plainly as he could.

Mark couldn’t complain given how much he enjoyed the attention, but that didn’t negate the part of him that ached to know what Taemin had endured in order for his priorities to have shifted so intensely. He’d known before just how much Taemin loved them. This was unnecessary — they’d told him as much — but it seemed to ease Taemin’s mind, and so how could they possibly deny him?

“ _Hyung_ ,” he whined. Before the last bit of noise even had a chance to leave his lips there was a gentle pressure up against them, the faint aroma of smoke and spices washing over his senses as he melted into it with a smile.

He’d never been able to dream of winning against Taemin.

It wasn’t something that Mark ever let himself indulge in despite how pleasant it felt — that warm, fuzzy haze that crept through his body and relaxed every inch of it one muscle at a time. He’d spent so long having to look over his shoulder in each waking moment, not just for his own sake but for those he loved, and it was natural for him to never truly let his guard down. Doing so felt like . . . like floating. Tender kisses left him with a permanent curl to his lips as he went about his day and a spring in his step like he was moving to an inaudible beat. He’d fought it for so long that part of him couldn’t fathom just how good it felt.

A warm body draped itself over his side and a gentle pinch below his ribs had Mark jumping slightly where he sat on one of the wooden benches. “Mark’s off with the fairies,” Renjun teased in a sing-song voice before Mark snorted, shoved the other male off him and followed him into a tackle.

“It’s _fae_ ,” he corrected as they wrestled with each other. They were around the same height, sure, but Renjun was thinner, more slender, even if he was still a rather skilled fighter, and Mark had a bit more experience grappling — that being said, it was just fun and games. “And I wasn’t.”

“Then what was I talking about?” That was also new. Jaemin, and Jeno, of course, though the latter was a lot calmer in comparison. It’d be unrealistic to claim that they’d settled in here or were completely at ease but anyone could see that, at the very least, they seemed to be relatively comfortable and didn’t feel like they were in imminent danger. Jaemin hadn’t tried to, uh, proposition anyone in a few days, and Jeno hadn’t ended up staring down any of the other residents here like he was seconds away from starting a fight. The other male seemed to despise violence, but when it came to Jaemin . . . well, you’d have to be blind not to realise that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the other male.

Mark’s ears flushed red when he couldn’t recall anything they’d been saying from the past few minutes. “Uh . . .”

A deep, warm chuckle resounded on his other side and he turned just in time to see Jeno give him one of those near-close-eyed smiles that were still rather rare. “Don’t worry, I don’t listen to him half the time either,” the other male reassured despite the affronted noise it pulled from Jaemin.

Mark’s life had never been easy, but he’d grown up surrounded by love; to think that, after what these two boys had endured over the years, they were still able to laugh and joke around — to find room in their hearts to at least try and trust again. It was nothing short of incredible. There was no denying just how long they had to go before they had any sense of real normality but all that truly mattered was that they had a chance to try, now, with each other.

He’d assumed from the moment he’d seen them that they were . . . you know. _Together_. Mark was sure he wasn’t the only one. Even now he was undecided. Anyone would be blind not to notice the love they shared, but he hadn’t seen anything to confirm that there was anything more actually between them; he supposed that there was a chance that it’d simply never been possible. For so long they’d been struggling just to survive.

Mark wanted them to have a good life — they deserved nothing less. If they stayed here they had a chance at that, possibly, depending on how things went with the whole Sicheng situation and the disarray that’d been caused by Lady Liu’s death, but he felt like despite the fact they’d gotten close with some of the people here, especially Renjun and Chenle, that Weishen wasn’t in their cards. That wasn’t just because he didn’t want to leave them, either. It was more than that. They hadn’t divulged much detail about their pasts other than what’d been relevant to everything that’d happened lately but he _did_ know that they’d been taken from a coastal town far south of Enese when they’d been children. Maybe they’d want to go home. If they didn’t, then maybe they’d want to come back with them.

Mark felt like they’d be happy there. It’d been a while since he’d been able to actually appreciate his home and just how much progress they’d made but he knew that their city was a place where they could be content and safe. There were more spare rooms in the castle than he could ever hope to count and they could stay there for as long as they needed to so they could have time to get themselves back on their feet. He could help them find jobs, if they wanted them— hell, Doyoung could probably use an extra hand or two around the tavern given that Hyuck was always off and up to no good. Hyuck could probably use some friends, too, one’s that’d be a good influence or . . . well, good was debatable, but still.

Maybe Mark could use the company, too. Jungwoo _had_ said that he needed more friends that he wasn’t in love with.

Jungwoo was usually right.

“Talk away, Jaemin — I’m all ears,” Mark teased even as the other descended into a playful rant about how there was no way he was going to repeat himself _again_. Yeah, friends could be nice.

—

Once upon a time, Baekhyun had had dozens of names on a little list of people that, one day, he’d want to kill. People who’d slighted him, ruined his life, from neighbourhood boys growing up who’d made his life a living hell and left him with broken bones to a deadbeat father who’s voice would leave him trembling in fear as a child. If he hadn’t matured (somewhat) and decided that he didn’t need a list anymore then he would’ve definitely had two more additions. One Huang Zitao, and one Dong Sicheng.

The latter of which had finally woken up after near two-and-a-half weeks of unconsciousness.

Baekhyun stared at the man across from him with thinly veiled frustration and distrust, and to his merit, Sicheng didn’t seem to have the gall to meet his eye — then again, that could be a result of more than just his guilt over what’d happened, especially after how Lucas had, once he’d stopped crying and hugging him, squared his shoulders and given him an extended earful. Lucas was always so sweet, so kind, so jovial, but he was also one of the most empathetic people he knew and _fiercely_ protective of those he loved.

“I truly am sorry, Yukhei — I never meant for it to go like that. I never should’ve used him like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” his lover had confirmed with a small frown. The pair had stared into each other’s eyes for a tense minute before Lucas had sighed. “I accept your apology, but I can’t forgive you right now, Sicheng. It’ll take time.”

Sometimes Lucas still managed to absolutely blow him out of the water with how mature he could be. Hell, there was no way Baekhyun would’ve been able to collect himself in such a manner and extend his hand before those waves of emotions had even passed. It’d take time for them to truly rekindle the friendship they’d had in their youth, and even then it’d be much different after how much both of them had grown and changed over the years and what they’d endured, but despite his own rage Baekhyun did hope that one day this would just be a chapter in their past. This was Lucas’s family, after all.

“You’re lucky,” Baekhyun hummed as he crossed his legs at the knee and kept staring. “Zitao told us enough to make things clearer. He admitted to leading you even further down the path you were on and for convincing you to do the ritual. He admitted he was the one who told you about Taemin and how to use him. Bastard still won’t tell us much else, but there’s not much we can do about that, so all that’s left is you.”

“I’ll accept any punishment you see fit.” That made Baekhyun pause. Would it really be so easy? The Sicheng he’d known since they’d arrived would never bare his neck so easily. “All I ask is that no one else is held responsible for my actions.”

The light-haired male let out a small, indignant snort and rolled his eyes before sitting up straighter. “If you’d woken up a week earlier I probably would’ve wanted you strung up, but that doesn’t mean it would’ve happened. You fucked up. I know that — you know that, too. For some reason, Taemin doesn’t hate you after what happened, and he doesn’t want you to be punished for it, either.” Baekhyun inhaled slowly. “We’ve all done shit we’re not proud of, stuff that we wish we could go back and change, but we can’t. All we can do is move forward and learn from our past.” Sicheng just stared at him, red-rimmed eyes wide and his lips parted as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing as Baekhyun reached forward to clap a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’re no monster, kid. Don’t let them make you think you are.”

He squeezed his hand once before pulling back and getting up from the seat by the other’s bed. Sicheng had only woken up a few hours prior and, as per the doctor’s (Taeyong’s) orders, he was still on bed rest. Yuta . . . he’d drained as much of that malevolent energy from the other’s body as he could and had sure as hell saved his life, but it’d still taken a toll. He’d be weak for a while, but he’d heal stronger than ever, even if he had only gained the smallest fraction of the power he’d been vying for. Taemin had gained some of that power, too.

Yuta still hadn’t woken up. His limp body lay prone and pale on a bed in one of the rooms down the hall, as lifeless as it had been the night they’d put him there save for the faint heartbeat in his chest and the rise and lull of his chest. He was alive, if you could even call it that. A concentration of demonic energy that high should’ve killed him right off the bat, but just like the man he’d saved, he was stubborn. They had to have faith he’d come back to them. At least they had a bit more hope now that Sicheng himself had come to.

Still, it made things difficult. They couldn’t stay here forever — especially not Jongin, who had a whole country waiting for him to return — but they’d been reluctant to leave with things still rocky here and their companions out to it. Without Yuta awake and okay he wasn’t sure what they were going to do. If he’d died, as terrible as that was, they could’ve tried to move past it no matter how painful, but as it was now they were trapped in this torturous state of limbo, just waiting for a miracle, or for something to go terribly wrong. Gods, Baekhyun prayed it was the former. Yuta was an asshole, but he was _his_ asshole— his _friend_.

Without him, he’d probably still be drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle.

“Could you hear them? Before you woke up?” Baekhyun couldn’t help the question that slipped from him once he reached the door; he didn’t look back over his shoulder to search for a reaction but he did wait for Sicheng’s answer.

“Towards the end . . . sometimes. Bits and pieces.”

“You should visit him, then. I think he’d like you for company.”

He didn’t linger after that. He had things to do, after all — plans to make.

If you’d ever told him when he first arrived here that he’d grow fond of this place, Baekhyun would’ve laughed, yet here he was — he knew the names of the people he passed in the halls and, rather than watching him with weary scorn, they smiled and greeted him without fail. Children who’d once hidden behind their older friends would offer toothy grins and tug at his hands as they tried to coerce him to come and play with them. These people had endured more than he could ever fathom yet, somehow, it hadn’t broken their spirit. Part of him lamented the idea of leaving.

It hadn’t taken a genius to guess where Ten would be, and what would you know — jackpot. The warlock was a rather inviting sight where he was leaning over a table, hip cocked out a little in a way that exemplified the curve of his back and the expanse of his throat as he focused on something in front of him. Baekhyun was a simple man — he felt like he couldn’t be blamed for letting his hand bounce off the firm flesh of his ass as he stepped up behind him. The noise was loud, but it was mostly just that. _Noise_. He hadn’t put very much pressure into the slap whatever, though it was still enough to make Ten jump from surprise and whir around to face him.

Before the other male could scold him Baekhyun darted forward to silence him with a small peck, his own lips curled into a devilish little grin. Ten chuckled leisurely and indulged him for a moment with fingers dragging over his scalp in a way that always sent tingles cascading over his flesh.

Someone cleared their throat. Someone else broke into boisterous laughter riddled with wheezes.

Baekhyun tore his gaze away and his eyes instantly picked up on the company that he’d first missed when he’d entered the room and, presumably, been rather distracted by . . . things. On the other side of the table was Kun, sitting with his arms crossed and an amalgamated look of judgement and disgust, and a mess of limbs — Lucas — who was thumping his hand against the table hard enough to make it rattle as he laughed, red in the face and teary-eyed; presumably at his brother’s reaction to the scene.

“Ten,” he huffed as he removed himself from the warm embrace. Despite the slight chiding in his tone, there wasn’t an ounce of shame written on his features. If anything, there was the hint of a proud, playful smirk. “If you wanted an audience— _ow!_ ” Baekhyun pouted like a child and rubbed at his chest where the other had slapped him like it genuinely hurt, something which seemed to make Lucas cackle even louder. At least his pain was good for _something_. “You wound me, Tennie. _Wound me_.”

Ten just snorted and turned his body half-back to the table with a fond look. “That’s _Ambassador Ten_ to you,” the other replied in a nonchalant hum. It took his brain a few moments to catch up and actually process what his lover had said, and then the implications of it, and then he dropped the act and grinned.

“Wait— really? You accepted?”

“It’s a solid idea,” Kun pointed out as his expression shifted to something a little less mortified. “I was considering it anyway but Sicheng agreed when he woke up. The people here respect you, and so do we. We had an alliance regardless of whether it was official or not, and this . . . I think it’ll be good for everyone.” Kun had been acting as the head of the house ever since Sicheng had gone under and he’d been doing an incredible job despite his own pain. Of course, he hadn’t been alone in his endeavours. He’d had his brothers, his friends, and them. They did have _some_ experience with this sort of thing.”Besides,” he added with a smile as he clapped Lucas’s shoulder, “who better for the job than these two?”

“ _Gege_ ,” Lucas all but whined as he ducked his head down bashfully, but he was still smiling.

“It’s true.” Baekhyun slid his arm firmly around Ten’s waist as pride swelled up in his chest and made him feel like he was ready to burst. “You’re both incredible. The people here love Ten, and everyone back home already adores Lucas — you’re both incredibly intelligent, empathetic . . . _handsome_ —“

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Ten interjected with a snort as a light shock of magic ran up his arm. He wasn’t quick enough to hide the quirk of his lips, though.

“Is that an offer?”

Chair legs scraped loudly against the stone floor as Kun gathered the papers in front of him and Lucas nearly fell off his own when it started him. “Okay, that’s it— get it out of your system. I’ll have everything drawn up in a few hours,” the blond rushed out without meeting their gaze and slipped out of the room. Silence filled the air for a few long moments before they all broke into collective laughter.

“You’re terrible,” Ten managed through near-tears.

“You love it.”

—

It was tense, but Taeyong wouldn’t say there was any tension on his end — that being said, he could understand why Sicheng would be uncomfortable sitting in the same room as him after everything. Even so, the other male was the last of his worries at that moment. His attention was solely on Yuta. The older fae hadn’t deteriorated any more since that first week, but he hadn’t exactly _improved_ , either; Taeyong had been pumping energy into the other’s body for near three weeks now with little to no change whatsoever, other than the fact that Yuta’s body was slowly filtering through those reserves of malevolent energy still caught up in his system. There was less than when it’d started, but still a lot.

Even Taeyong didn’t know how he was alive, other than the fact he was a stubborn bastard.

Damn him.

Taeyong gently brushed long, dark locks back into place and removed his hands from where they’d been settled — one on Yuta’s cheek, the other above his stomach. Sicheng’s questions were near-tangible where they hung in the air, unspoken. He’d been silent since Taeyong had walked into the room and found him sitting by Yuta’s bedside. Since he’d told him he could stay while he checked on him.

“He’s stable,” the fae reassured as he sat up properly in his chair and turned his gaze over towards the other male. Sicheng’s shoulders drooped with relief. “I can’t say much else. I’m still not sure when he’ll wake up, like you did, or if he even will.” Some of that tightness returned to the other’s features.

“I’m so sorry, Taeyong.” Sicheng’s voice wobbled dangerously as he spoke, the words wet and thick as he seemed to force them from his throat. “It was never supposed to be like this.”

Taeyong had to compose himself for a few moments before he could reply. All that rage and pain welled up in his chest in a way that was wholly overwhelming, but he didn’t force it back down like he used to and fear it. He was entitled to his pain. “You were my friend, Sicheng, even if you didn’t see it. _Our_ friend. You betrayed that,” he spoke slowly. “But . . . we all make mistakes. It was never your intention to hurt anyone. To be willing to risk everything for the people you love, regardless of the outcome . . . I know how that feels.”

Sicheng’s eyes finally snapped up to meet his own and they’re filled with disbelief. He seemed to struggle with his words. “You killed her.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” Taeyong admitted. Part of him waited for the guilt or remorse to bubble up under his skin and drag him back under, but it didn’t come — he didn’t regret what he’d done. “Because she hurt Kun, because of what she did to Jeno and Jaemin, because of what she did to everyone. To you. Because she made sure you never stood a chance at the life you deserved.”

He’d seen Sicheng unhinged, towards the end, but never emotional — not like this. His eyes welled with tears and his pain, his remorse, it was so thick and cloying that he found him moving forward regardless to capture the other’s hands in his own. “Taeyong—“

“You don’t owe me anything, Sicheng; all I ask is that you prove them wrong,” he interjected. “Be the man I know you can be. The man _he_ sees in you. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.” Just like that, Sicheng crumpled into his arms and pressed his face into his shoulder, hot tears soaking through the material of his shirt, and through all of it, Taeyong just held him.

He had no shame in admitting he used to the time to make sure he was recovering, too — his vitals weren’t a hundred percent but that was to be expected after what he’d gone through. With some more rest (something his brothers would no doubt impose heavily) he’d be back to normal in no time. Until then . . .

“You’ll look after him for me, right?” Sicheng pulled back with puffy eyes and cocked his head, confused, before his gaze flickered to the prone figure on the bed and back to him. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Taeyong waited for him to understand what he was implying with a patient smile.

“I— you’d trust me with that? With _him_? I don’t— you’re leaving?”

“We can’t stay forever.” The last thing he wanted to do was leave, especially if that meant leaving Yuta behind, but they couldn’t ignore the responsibilities they had back home; they’d already stayed so much longer than they’d originally planned. “I know he’ll be in good hands, here. Besides, it wouldn’t be safe to transport him home the way he is now. When we arrive we’ll set up a link — we’ve been talking about a portal, a permanent one — and then we’ll see.” Taeyong paused, assessed his reaction. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Sicheng replied after a few seconds of deliberation and met his eyes with a resolved gaze. “I’ll treat him as one of my own, Taeyong. You have my word.”

 _Oh, Yuta_ , he thought to himself, _you sure know how to pick them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time:
> 
> _At the end of the pier was a ship which rocked gently with the sway of the tide, its sails fluttering ever so slightly in the breeze that whipped past them, and perched on the railing was a familiar ball of black feathers which clicked its beak as they approached and stretched out its wings. "Took you long enough."_


	25. chapter twenty five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everything they've endured, it's hard to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This took me so much longer than originally planned, but I was so busy finishing off assessments and I was also a little sick - all good now though, promise! I hope you're all staying safe and taking care of yourselves.
> 
> Only two chapters left after this one which, technically, will serve as the epilogue! I guess this is technically the end of the main story, then? Don't worry, though, there's a lot more to come. The Yuwin spinoff/continuation, Blood Rites, will be posted once I'm finished here and there's more fics planned in this series, as well as some requests which will fit into the verse!

The whole situation was painfully ironic. A year ago, if given the opportunity, Lucas would’ve baulked and declared that he never wanted to set foot within these walls again. They held the rank stench of old memories which had been festering ever since he’d left — an open wound which had never been given the time to heal. The love he had for his brothers hadn’t been enough to break past the paralysing fear of what would await him if he ever returned.

Now, once again, he was left to stare up at the towering figure of Weishen House with an uncertainty of whether he’d ever truly see it again. He had considered it, of course — staying behind. He’d talked about it with Taemin. They needed the help around here, to rebuild after everything, to help get everything under control as all the other factions ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. For so long they’d followed Lady Liu by default because she was the strongest, but now that she was gone . . . there’d be disagreements about who to look to next. The simplest answer was Sicheng, but they were all fools who didn’t want to bow the man they’d ridiculed for so long.

Him being here wouldn’t change as much as he’d like it to. It’d be one extra set of hands for a few months, tops, and . . . as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t quite sure he could stomach being here for that long without his lovers by his side. Even now that he could control his curse to a reasonable degree it still scared him. It was something he needed to keep an eye on and he trusted them to be able to reign him in.

He couldn’t stay, but Lucas kept trying to remind himself that this wasn’t permanent and that he _would_ see them again.

There was a part of him, though, a greater part, that was absolutely buzzing at the prospect of going home — especially given that he’d been convinced he’d never see it again. Weishen was no longer the pinnacle of his nightmares, but it wasn’t his home, not anymore.

That didn’t mean he had to enjoy the process of going home, though.

If Lucas never had to go through another portal in his life then it’d still be too soon. He was sure that his face went a little green as he stumbled out the other end and caught himself on a wooden post, his stomach heaving like the waves he could hear in the distance. He was _not_ going to pull a Mark and throw up everywhere. He focused on evening out his breathing as the world spun and—

Yep, there was the lovely sound of Mark throwing up not too far behind him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jongin reassured as he rubbed a hand over his back and all Lucas could do was groan quietly in response. He didn’t want to get used to it. He hoped that travelling by sea wouldn’t be as sickening, though he couldn’t remember it making him sick when he’d come here. Then again, he hadn’t felt much of anything then.

“Why couldn’t we have just portaled all the way home?”

“Because,” Taemin mused as he stepped past them and looked out over the small port town, “I’m not very good at portals, and neither is Taeyong. Ten can’t transport us all at once and multiple trips would be dangerous.” It made sense, unfortunately.

“How can we even be certain that we’ll be able to get a ship? Didn’t you say it was hard to get here? It’s not storm season but the people here are mostly fisherman, they don’t travel across oceans.” Lucas had been here a handful of times in his youth, though he wasn’t sure if this was where he’d landed when he’d arrived here. Based on his trajectory when he arrived, probably. He tried not to think about what sort of pain and destruction he must’ve undeniably left behind.

Where they’d landed was an elevated hill that overlooked part of the town and he watched as Taeyong stepped up to get a better look, standing up on his tip-toes and surveying the port before he let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Well, that _was_ a worry, but not anymore.”

“Huh?”

“It’s our lucky day. Let’s get down there before he leaves without us.”

The thing was, Lucas had no idea who _he_ was. He supposed he was about to find out, right? He was used to the stares that followed him, followed them, but it seemed a little bit different this time around — this was Weishen territory, after all, and after everything that’d happened there was a chance that, even out here, people might have an inkling of who they were. Then again, maybe they were just nosy. Either way, it was something he tried to ignore as best he could as they moved through the town. “Are you sure we’ve got everything?” He heard Baekhyun ask from somewhere off to his left followed by resounding variations of ‘yes’. They’d packed more than they’d probably need, but . . . his eyes still wandered.

Lucas wouldn’t be able to give a definitive answer, if asked, as to why a stand selling fruit suddenly caught his eye, or why he found himself drifting away from the others with a single-minded sort of focus that felt hazy in the recesses of his mind. The pads of his fingers skipped across the gentle fabric underneath the baskets as he came to a stop in front of the stall; after a moment, his eyes came to rest on the weathered old woman sitting behind it.

Her eyes, pale as pearls, seemed to stare right into his very soul as her wrinkled lips spread into a small smile — it felt familiar. “Wong Yukhei,” she drawled in a warm crackle, “you’ve kept me waiting.” He knew deep down that it should’ve been concerning (worrying, even) that she not only knew his birth name but apparently had been waiting for him, but all he felt was a sense of calm and ease as she slowly took his hands within her own. Her skin was thick and coarse like the leather of a saddle, but the warmth there made him smile. “You’ve been so strong, my child. She’d be proud of you.” Something warm and wet trailed down over his cheeks as a face he’d forgotten to time slipped into his mind. _Mother_.

“For your journey.” The woman pressed the cool, smooth surface of an apple into his hands and covered them with her own. Lucas opened his mouth to speak but no noise came out, his throat sealed with an incredible wave of emotion that left him choked up.

“—Lucas?”

It was like breaking through the surface of the water. His ears popped and then he blinked, once, twice, before he registered the scene before him. The stall was old and weathered, covered in dust and cobwebs, damp stains — there was no fruit in the broken baskets strewn everywhere, and no blind woman behind them. The apple in his hand, though, was real.

Lucas discreetly wiped the moisture off his face and sucked in a shaky breath; the pounding of his heart was left ignored as he turned on his heel to face Ten, who was watching him with a curious, hesitant expression, something almost suspicious. “What are you doing, babe?”

“I . . .” he trailed off before looking down at the apple. He could still remember the feeling of her hands on his — could still hear her voice ringing in his ears and those clouded, all-knowing eyes. The taller male tucked the fruit down into his side-bag and brought a small smile up onto his lips. “Nothing, Ten — let’s hurry up before we get left behind.” Ten still stared at him for a few, long moments with narrowed eyes before sighing and linking their hands together.

“Lead the way, hot stuff.”

—

At the end of the pier was a ship which rocked gently with the sway of the tide, its sails fluttering ever so slightly in the breeze that whipped past them, and perched on the railing was a familiar ball of black feathers which clicked its beak as they approached and stretched out its wings. "Took you long enough.”

Baekhyun’s heart seized a little when he caught sight of the man who was standing by the railing where the ship was moored, arms crossed over his chest and his dark hair cropped shorter than last he’d seen him. Kyungsoo didn’t look much different, really, but there was a softness to his features that had never quite been there before. He almost looked like he was about to smile. _Almost_.

“Soo— how did you know?” He asked with an incredulous laugh as he stepped forward — two big, quick steps before he was engulfing the other male in a tight hug and squeezing. Kyungsoo did let out an exaggerated grunt but he didn’t push him away like Baekhyun was used to; instead, there was a heavy, stunted pat on his back and a sigh.

“ _How couldn’t I?_ That stupid fucking bird harassed us until we changed course. You’re lucky we were in the area,” the younger male grumbled and, as though sensing that it was being discussed, Lucky let out an indignant squawk. Baekhyun had no idea how Yuta’s crow had managed to track down Kyungsoo’s ship, nor how or why it’d lead them back here, especially with its master out of commission. “I wanted to leave yesterday but— Chanyeol wanted to wait a little longer.” He didn’t miss the way that Kyungsoo stumbled over his name like it was a foreign concept. Oh?

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Heavy, hurried footsteps reached his ear as someone approached the edge of the ship and Baekhyun looked up just in time to see Chanyeol’s giant head pop into view. He’d never imagined he’d be fond of the other, nor that there’d be any reality in which they could be considered something which was a semblance of friends, but . . . here they were. “Gods, what has he been feeding you? Like you need to get any taller.”

“Maybe you’ve just shrunk,” Chanyeol fired back with a smile, carefree, and Baekhyun clutched his chest.

“Maybe we should take our business elsewhere.” Kyungsoo snorted.

“No amount of money could make someone put up with you for an extended period of time. Besides, I’ve already got a client, so you better hurry up and make up your mind if you want a spot.” It wasn’t common to hear that. Kyungsoo had always been incredibly selective with who he took jobs for and, more specifically, who he allowed on his ship. Either something had intrigued him or they’d paid him a lot of money; that, or Chanyeol had made him soft.

Jongin stepped forward so that he was beside him and extended his hand to Kyungsoo with a small nod. His other arm wrapped around Baekhyun’s waist so he could pinch his side, mostly just in jest. “It’s good to see you again, both of you. We’d be more than happy to pay for the trip, of course, if you’re willing to take us on board.” Kyungsoo shook his hand with what seemed like an extremely strong grip.

“One condition: If you defile my kitchen again I have the right to throw you overboard.”

He’d missed this — missed Kyungsoo. Missed Chanyeol, even, and Sehun, even if the little bastard only offered a half-hearted wave when they finally stepped on board the ship. Baekhyun was about to head his way over to where the other was sitting on the rail to greet him properly (read: pester) when he suddenly paused in step, the fine hairs dusting the back of his neck and arms standing violently on end. Idly, he remembered Kyungsoo mentioning he already had a client, but the fates really were cruel.

“Tao?” He heard Lucas call in a confused tone from somewhere behind him. To his merit, the man wouldn’t meet his eyes from where he sat beside Sehun, and he did look like this was the last place he wanted to be.

Sehun blinked. “You know them?”

“Yeah, we know him all right. Has he tried to convert you, yet? Suggested murder?” Baekhyun answered in a dry drawl; someone’s hand settled on his shoulder as though to try and calm him down. He was calm, though. He didn’t need to be angry to be repulsed by someone, and he certainly didn’t need to be angry to want to throw them overboard.

Kyungsoo stepped between them and took a long moment of silence to glance between them, dark brows knitting together with something akin to frustration and confusion. “Is there going to be a problem here?” Baekhyun clenched his teeth together and smiled.

“No, none at all. Right, Zitao?”

“Right,” came quietly from the younger male. He didn’t sound so sure of himself. Good. Baekhyun was aching for an excuse to push him over the railing, after all, but he wasn’t in a hurry — besides, it’d be much more effective if they were in the middle of the ocean. Hopefully, Zitao couldn’t swim.

The hand on his shoulder slid up to the side of his throat — a warm, heavy weight that was followed by a buzz settling under his skin and melting away the tension there. “Stop planning a murder and come help me pack away our things,” Taemin murmured by his ear.

“Am I that obvious?” He half-joked. The warlock hummed in confirmation.

“Come on.”

—

“Kim Jongin!” Even from above deck, Taeyong could hear Kyungsoo’s scathing shouts. His lips twitched a little as he tried to force down the smile attempting to rise and he turned his face away from the fire pit most of them were still sitting around; he hadn’t missed Jongin sneaking off with Baekhyun and Lucas in tow only half an hour earlier, and he’d known they’d be getting up to no good, but the sound of crashing below them suggested they hadn’t made it to their shared quarters.

Beside him, Mark and Ten openly laughed, and Taemin — who was between them — didn’t seem to be able to hide his own amusement, either. “I’m not interfering if he decides to throw them overboard,” the elder mused with laughter in his voice, making Taeyong shake his head. Well, Kyungsoo _had_ said that before they’d boarded his ship — and it was exactly that. His ship. Jongin and Kyungsoo seemed good enough friends that he doubted their captain would ever actually throw him over, but the scolding was something that his lover certainly deserved given that he’d had plenty of warning.

“The kitchen isn’t even that far from your room,” Sehun shorted from where he was leaning back against a wooden beam, sharpening some of the bolts resting in his lap; Zitao was by his side, like always. Taeyong figured it was rather likely the dark-haired male was uncomfortable being stuck on this ship with them, even if the tension had died down a lot over the past week. Baekhyun had even toned down his not-so-subtle threats. Taeyong . . . well, he didn’t hate Zitao, but he didn’t trust him very much, either.

He’d seen what happened when the man attached himself to someone, and he was fond enough of Chanyeol and Sehun that he didn’t want to see a repeat of Weishen. He’d warned the pair of such and whilst Chanyeol had taken it into consideration and reassured that he didn’t necessarily trust him either, Sehun had shrugged. “He doesn’t seem that bad. I’m not going to say I trust him, because I’ve only known him for a few days, but I’m not going to ignore him. Gods knows it’s nice to have some company other than these two lovebirds.” Chanyeol had clipped him up the side of the head at that comment and stressed the fact they _weren’t_ lovers. _Yet_ , Taeyong had thought to himself

Zitao had always presented as a mysterious and playful figure, no matter how dangerous, but the cocky man he’d encountered in Weishen was hard to reconcile with the quiet, withdrawn ghost that lingered around Sehun. Each day he seemed to look worse and worse, as did the dark circles under his eyes. Even tonight Taeyong could discern the tremor to his hands that seemed to happen even when the muscles were rested, and the way he constantly rubbed out what seemed to be aching bones. The yawning and slowness of his speech were telling enough without the rest.

Taeyong gathered up most of the plates in his own grip as everyone else chatted before his eyes wandered back to Zitao; he tipped his head to the side and motioned towards the cabin when the other met his gaze, repeating the motion when the other just stared in confusion. No one seemed the wiser as the other got up to join him with slow movements. Zitao was miles taller than him, yet as they walked side by side his presence was so small, these days.

Kyungsoo was just exiting the kitchen as they neared the door, wiping his hands with a rag and sporting an expression of utter disgust and frustration. “You need to keep them on a leash. I don’t care what you all get up to but I draw the line at my kitchen.”

“Sorry, hyung. I promise I’ll have a talk to them.” Jongin, mostly, since he seemed to enjoy pulling them into risky situations. Taeyong didn’t lie and say it wouldn’t happen again, though, because they all knew even he couldn’t promise such a thing. Kyungsoo just sighed, shook his head and headed back upstairs.

“Don’t worry, Kyungsoo wouldn’t have let us in if it wasn’t clean,” he reassured the other lightly as they stepped inside. Taeyong instantly set everything in the sink, but rather than focusing his attention on cleaning them he turned to cock his hip against the counter and look at Zitao. The other didn’t even seem to notice for a few moments. The dark-haired male shifted nervously and glanced towards the door.

“You can relax — you haven’t done anything wrong,” Taeyong soothed. “I just wanted to talk to you without everyone else listening, okay?”

“What about?” Even his voice sounded like shit — hoarse and quiet like he barely even had the energy to get words out of his mouth.

“I’m a healer, Zitao — even if I wasn’t, I’d know you’re not sleeping.” The older male couldn’t even meet his eyes, but, well, he didn’t deny it, did he? “Talk to me. I can help.” The weak laugh that came from the other wasn’t rude, more . . . self-deprecating, really. It was a laugh that told him Zitao didn’t believe anyone could help.

“There’s nothing you can do, Taeyong. This isn’t any sickness.”

“No, I didn’t think it was, not after I saw the bruises.” Zitao paled and his fingers instinctively rose to his throat, making sure it was covered. “No one else on this ship has laid a hand on you — I’d know if they had — and the angle is wrong for it be self-inflicted. Not to mention that there was a bruise on your stomach, too.” He’d seen it when the elder had stretched to help with one of the sails only yesterday. “There’s nothing you could tell me that I wouldn’t believe.”

He almost thought Zitao wasn’t going to cave; the silence stretched on for a good minute before his shoulder slumped in defeat. “He won’t let me sleep. It’s . . . it’s how he’d talk to me, before, and he doesn’t like being ignored.”

“Who?” There was clear hesitation.

“My . . . my master — the one who gave me my power.”

“You mean, a god?”

Zitao seemed surprised that he wasn’t questioning it or laughing, but Taeyong did believe him — there wasn’t much he wouldn’t believe in these days after all he’d seen. There was also the matter of the woman from the market, someone or something that he, Ten and Lucas had all experienced separately. She was no fae, no demon, and she wasn’t human — he didn’t know what sort of entity to call her. Then again, he wasn’t sure if she was a god, either.

“Yes. I questioned him, I’d never done that before, and he— I didn’t like his answers. I disobeyed him. He’s angry. And he . . .” Zitao’s voice cracked and something utterly agonised flashed across his features. “He wears the face of someone I care for. He torments me with it whenever I close my eyes. He won’t stop until I submit to him again, but I . . . I can’t. I won’t.”

Taeyong considered the information for a moment before nodding. “I’ll help you, then. I can give you something that will give you a dreamless sleep — I promise he won’t be able to reach you, there.” He thought to himself that the other man almost looked as though he was about to cry in thanks. Taeyong knew what it felt like to be someone’s puppet.

—

It was warm, but the air which whipped around them had a cool bite to it which made him feel alive — it was such a sharp contrast to the warmth at his back and the arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Up here, all he could hear over the rush of the wind was the distant caws of a crow. Lucky.

Ten let his eyes flutter open once more and his cheeks ached with the stretch of his smile. As much as he enjoyed simply relishing in the sensations of this, he couldn’t bring himself to keep his eyes closed for long, not when it meant such a beautiful view. Around him there was nothing but blue skies and clouds; below him, though, stretched the never-ending expanse of ocean and their little ship bobbing amongst the waves. It looked so small, from all the way up here.

He’d never let himself indulge in this before. Taemin had offered, of course, but he’d thought it would be cruel to allow himself a taste of what had never been, of what was never meant to be. His wings had been deformed and ineffective before he’d ever lost them, after all. Taeyong had been gushing about it for days, though, and with them due to arrive home tomorrow . . . he hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity this time around.

Admittedly, Taemin seemed to be enjoying it just as much as him. He’d certainly been showing off with a variety of fancy dives and twists along the way, though now they were simply gliding through the air, those stunning wings of his barely even moving as they let the currents do the work to keep them up.

“Do you trust me?” Taemin asked against the shell of his ear. Ten had no hesitation in nodding.

The last thing he expected was to be dropped. One moment he was being held up, the next he was free-falling through the sky, plummeting towards the ocean with no salvation in sight; even so, he wasn’t scared. Instead, Ten closed his eyes once again and stretched his arms out wide to each side as he let himself fall. That must’ve been what it felt like, he imagined — to truly fly.

It felt like minutes before Taemin finally caught him without a hitch, though he knew that it had to be little more than thirty seconds, and when he did Ten let out a joyous laugh. He had no fears about being dropped as he twisted in the elder’s arms to throw arms around his shoulders and seal their lips together. Ten thought that, just maybe, Taemin faltered for a moment. Cute.

“C’mon, time to head back down. I want you to show Mark, too.”

“You’re cruel,” Taemin murmured against his lips. “He’ll probably be sick.”

“He’s been doing well on the ship, you know. Just . . . maybe don’t drop him like that, okay?”

Taemin laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for pt.1 of the epilogue!


	26. chapter twenty six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taeyong never imagined in his wildest dreams that he'd be where he was now. Things had been hard, but they were healing, now, and more than that, they were doing it together - as best they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I know this took a while, but it is very long so I hope that makes up for it? I told you guys there would be a happy ending (which is only going to get even better in the second part of the epilogue, but you'll have to wait and see for that!) I really wanted to make sure that it was as good as I could possibly make it, given that we're only one chapter from the end of this fic. I really do hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> (Also, in these epilogue chapters, there are lots of easter eggs for the fics that are in the works. I tried to make them as subtle as possible c; I'll also be continuing all those requests I got once I have some more free time, some of which tie into this verse or are aus of it, so stay tuned! I promise this series is far from over and that there'll be a lot more content of the main boys, as well as a lot of content about the side character you've all been asking for! Please be patient with me)

Taeyong woke up to a surge of heat and the feeling of a warm, wet mouth around his cock. Even before he could fully open his eyes his hands, heavy as lead, moved down to tangle in the head of hair above his lap — he didn’t tug, no, it was more of a tender caress than anything as his stomach tightened with pleasure. The early morning light was gentle on his eyes when they finally focused on the bedroom and, more importantly, Jongin. He looked . . . by the gods, there was little that could compare to his king.

His silver hair was cropped shorter again, even shorter than when they’d first met, though he’d still kept enough length on top that it flopped around in a way Taeyong found immensely endearing (and gave him something to play with): his skin shone near golden under the warm light that was cascading in from the open window to his right, highlighting the shine to his hair and the way the muscles of his bare back rippled with each movement. Jongin’s eyes peered up at him through thick lashes with a playful heat, even as his nose brushed against his stomach.

“What a lovely way to wake up,” Taeyong half-wheezed. It was quickly followed by a moan as the elder’s thumbs kneaded into the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, gripping him tighter as a hum buzzed its way through his throat. Taeyong wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it — though his dreams had been rather pleasant for a while — but he did know that this wasn’t going to be dragged out all morning.

There was no cursing or filthy whispers in the air between them, just soft, breathy moans and the rustle of bedsheets broken up by an occasional squelch. Each time Jongin swallowed around him the muscle in his thighs and stomach would twitch uncontrollably as the heat in his stomach bubbled and brewed, creeping through his body; it didn’t rush through him like the usual frenzy they found themselves falling into, but rather they flowed like the gentle lull of waves lapping against a shoreline. It was a slow, gradual rise rather than an overwhelming wave crashing over him. No screams as he spilt down the elder’s throat and trembled underneath his touch, just a satiated sigh and a smile.

Jongin didn’t pull back immediately. No, his lover took his time instead, lapping over his length slowly and drawing forth a valiant twitch before it admitted defeat and lowered against his thigh. It was too much in the best possible way. He didn’t pull back until Taeyong’s hands were fumbling down from his hair to his cheeks to guide him up his body for a kiss.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Jongin mumbled huskily against his jaw in that croaky morning voice that he so adored.

“Morning,” Taeyong chuckled. His arms wrapped loosely around the body above him and rested on the firm muscles there. “What did you want?” Jongin pulled back with a furrow between his brows and a slight pout.

“Huh? Can’t I just suck you off because I want to? You look so pretty in the morning, baby.”

“You can,” he mused, “but you haven’t tried to touch me more, which means you’ve probably got to get up in a few minutes. What do you need me to do?”

“Do I really ask that much of you? I didn’t—“

Taeyong pressed a finger to his plus lips, silencing him, and pushed them both up to sit with his free hand cupping his king’s cheek. “No, Jongin, you don’t — that’s the problem. I wish you’d ask more of me. Of us. You know how proud of you I am for how you’ve been handling things, right? You’ve been doing an incredible job, but we’re here to make things easier for you. Just because you _can_ do it all by yourself doesn’t mean you have to.” Ever so slowly, Jongin relaxed under his touch, his forehead smoothing out.

Once upon a time Jongin would’ve huffed and puffed and argued — would’ve refused any prospect of help and decided on his own that someone offering help meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough. Once upon a time wasn’t now, though. They’d all come leaps and bounds.

The silver-haired male sighed. “I know. I just don’t want to make you all even busier with my work. I wanted to prove I could do it by myself.” Taeyong understood — he really did. He knew what’d happened in the time he’d been gone, and he knew how Jongin, who’d only just begun to adjust to his title, had spiralled into disarray. “I . . . I’m meeting with Sicheng today to finalise the accords, but I wanted to check in with progress in the new work downtown, you know? Make sure everything is going smoothly? And Doyoung’s still waiting for me to meet with him and finalise the reports for this quarter but I’ve been so busy, you know, and Baekhyun keeps trying to get me to review his plans but I haven’t had a chance and—“ Jongin cut himself off, paused, then flustered a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Taeyong soothed as he smooched his chin playfully. “You go and deal with Weishen and I’ll make sure to sort out the rest, okay? Check on Yuta for me.”

“I will, promise.”

“Are you sure you aren’t—“

Taeyong’s proposition was cut off by a loud snore from the body beside them — Lucas. The white-haired male couldn’t help but laugh, not just at the sudden interruption but also the fact that the other could sleep through, quite literally, anything.

“That’s probably my cue to get up,” Jongin chuckled with a lopsided smile. “Rain-check?”

“Of course.”

He at least let himself linger in the bed until the room had been silent for a few minutes (he felt like he’d more than earned the right to laze around and watch his lover get ready for the day)before he forced his body into motion. It was slow, at first. Taeyong had to shake off some level of that heady buzz and remind his limbs how to function properly — first his legs, then his arms, then his head so that it didn’t hang down as he rolled into a sitting position. He let himself just sit for a few moments, rolling his ankles and stretching out his toes until his joints ached in a way that was definitely painful but still oddly pleasant, and then someone let out an intelligible grumble behind him. Taeyong smiled.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Another grumble, this time more petulant; he swung himself up onto his feet and fumbled to grab his robe which had been shed onto the floor last night — clean, thankfully — to drape over his shoulders before padding around to the other side of the bed. The sight would never cease to warm his heart. Taeyong just . . . sometimes he couldn’t fathom that this was truly his life. Ten was settled on his back with a bare arm covering his face, his dark hair splayed drastically on the pillow beneath him. Unlike Ten, who was somehow capable of making early mornings look graceful, Lucas was sprawled in every direction and half—plastered to his chest, his face buried into Ten’s shoulder where there was no doubt a little drool. Despite the fact Taemin’s bed could hold a small army, he’d wormed his way in as close as he could during the night.

“Can’t you stay in bed a little longer, Yongie?” Ten mumbled without moving his arm. “It’s too early to think.” The white-haired male let out a light chuckle and leant down to graze a kiss over his collarbone, one that lingered for a half-moment.

“You stay in bed,” he reasoned. “You and Lucas should sleep in. I’ve got some things to do but I’ll be back later, okay?” The warlock finally lowered his arm and twisted just enough to place a lazy kiss at his wrist, dark eyes sleepy as they watched him fondly.

“Have a good day, sweetheart.”

These days, more often than not, mornings would find them all piled into Taemin’s monstrous excuse for a bed. Each of them still retained their own rooms, though they were rarely used for their intended purposes — Taeyong hadn’t slept in his own bed in months, hadn’t slept alone _at all_ since they’d returned near six months ago. He felt like it was a good idea for them to all be able to retreat to their own spaces when they weren’t in the best mood or simply needed some time alone. It was healthy to spend time in his own company rather than always plastered to one of his lovers’ sides; it’d been immensely jarring for him to go from a life of emotional isolation to one filled with nothing but it, and now his focus had been on finding that balance.

He wasn’t alone in that, though. They’d all had things they had to work on individually.

Jongin had been nothing short of incredible over the past few months as he’d finally settled into his position and seemingly found his own path. He was a king in every sense of the word. It’d be impossible for any of their allies or neighbours to see him as anything other than a ruler worthy of their respect and trust, even those who’d once looked down on him as a child trying to fill too-big shoes, a man who had no idea what he was doing, or someone who wasn’t worthy of such a title.

Jongin had always been worthy of this (there was no doubt about that) but now . . . now he seemed to believe it, too.

Sure, it wasn’t like Taeyong _loved_ that the elder was always swamped with his duties and had his own struggles with balance in that regard, but he was so inordinately proud of Jongin that the good outweighed the bad by far. Besides, that’s what they were here for, right? Not just as his lovers but as his subjects, members of his court — it was their job to make his life easier and shoulder some of the burdens where they could. Taeyong felt like that — helping people — was something he’d never grow tired of.

The Taeyong who’d once only existed in the four walls of a small, decrepit apothecary could never have conceived the life he now lived nor the responsibilities which fell to him. Even without additional tasks, his days were usually rather busy, though the fae couldn’t deny that it was indeed by choice most of the time. He’d never be as extroverted as some of his lovers, but Taeyong carried himself with a confidence that had been inexistent before. He never felt a need to hide.

Whilst his job technically only extended to looking after the inhabitants of the castle and any of the people they directly employed there was no way that Taeyong couldn’t overlook that when it came to the people of their city; he was notorious for waiving fees for treatment when he knew a family would struggle once they paid him or going above and beyond to help people, even those who hadn’t always looked upon him kindly. His people weren’t all partial to magic, but they were coming around, _slowly_. The fact he was able to save the lives of those who were otherwise lost to natural medicine had probably helped that progress.

Taeyong didn’t feel as though he was anywhere near experienced enough to begin considering apprentices of any sort (even if he’d had more requests than he could truly fathom) but his time was often monopolised here and there with teaching in mind. Ten always said he was too soft . . . well, maybe he wasn’t wrong, but Taeyong didn’t think soft was a bad thing. Not anymore.

Besides, what room did Ten have to talk, hmm? The warlock liked to put up a front but they all knew just how compassionate and generous he was. After all, unlike him, Ten did have an apprentice. Jungwoo was a member of the guard first and foremost but a majority of his spare time (that wasn’t spent with Doyoung, at least) was spent following Ten around and learning what he could. Jungwoo couldn’t wield magic due to how far back his source of magic was but he _was_ incredibly sensitive to it, and he could use things which had been otherwise charmed or enchanted. It also meant he was particularly susceptible to magic too, though, which was why Ten had taken him under his wing in the first place.

Jungwoo was only one of his ducklings, though — one of _many_ ducklings.

The small portal they’d managed to establish between their home and Weishen wasn’t the most stable, meaning only one person could pass through at a time and only sparingly. None of them were experts when it came to portals, after all, and their resident portal expert — Yuta — was still unconscious; there’d been no signs since he went under that he was ever going to wake up other than the fact he hadn’t died yet, by some miracle. Taeyong wanted nothing more than to be able to cross over every day to check on his friend, and the others, but truthfully that just wasn’t a good enough excuse most of the time, especially when he had business here to deal with and his presence there had no effect. Jongin was busy solidifying alliances and given that Lucas and Ten were considered ambassadors, now, they were slipping between their cities more often than not.

Everyone there _loved_ Ten, though Taeyong could seldom blame them for that. Ten had practically adopted the Lieshou which — again — Taeyong couldn’t blame him for. He himself was ridiculously fond of them. He wished he could see them a little bit more often but it was more than enough for him to be able to hear the stories that Ten and Lucas would relay for him when they returned home at the end of their days; knowing that they were doing better and that _all of them_ were slowly recovering from what they’d been through was a weight off his shoulders.

Of course, that extended to everyone. Chenle and Renjun had also wormed their way into his heart during his time there, as had Jeno and Jaemin; with the latter, though, that fondness was laced with an underlying sense of responsibility and concern. They were adults, technically, but they still felt like his responsibility after what’d happened. Leaving them behind had been one of the hardest parts of leaving, that was for sure.

Knowing that they were with Mark, now — all four of them — was definitely a consolation.

Taeyong would be lying if he said it’d been a surprise when they’d arrived at their home port and Mark hadn’t stepped off the ship to follow them. He’d known since he’d gotten back that something needed to change, and after Mark had admitted that he wished he’d had more of a chance to experience the world before he settled down . . . he’d had a gut feeling. Hell, he’d inherently encouraged the decision. Still, that didn’t mean it’d been easy to walk away from him — not by a long shot. Without the element of surprise he’d been able to cope with the sudden change mildly better but there’d still been more tears than even he had anticipated and lots of promises.

It wasn’t forever. Mark would be safe, sailing with Kyungsoo. A few months, he’d said, maybe a year at most, and the fact that they had a familiar crow dropping in with letters tied to its foot ever few weeks with updates made those months pass just a little easier.

In hindsight, it also wasn’t much of a surprise that Mark had managed to weasel his way into Kyungsoo’s good graces, nor that he’d managed to convince the elder to allow four more young adults on board. Only the gods knew what Kyungsoo was going through with a bunch of five rowdy youths on that ship, though he figured that between him, Chanyeol and Sehun, he should be able to keep them in line; Tao wasn’t in the picture anymore, not after he’d all but disappeared once they’d touched down on solid land.

He missed Mark. Gods, he missed him _terribly_ , more than he was even willing to admit. Mark had been his first friend, his first love, his first real kiss; they’d been separated for most of their life and even though he _knew_ that Mark was not only alive but out there having fun it was still difficult to quell those anxieties. He missed bed-hair and his morning-breath and the way he always laughed a second too late, or the way he laughed with his whole body, the way he was starting to hold himself with a confidence he’d never had as a boy— the list went on and on and on.

It made it marginally easier that he wasn’t the only one who missed him. Taeyong knew he was far from alone in his longing, not just his lovers but the other people in their life, too, like Doyoung and Jungwoo, Hyuck. Whilst there’d been apprehensions upon their first few meetings after the pain he’d indirectly put Mark through and the burdens he’d pushed onto young shoulders, that had quickly faded over time as they’d started to bond over the things they did have uncommon, like Mark.

It’d started as small visits here and there, Taeyong trying to make himself as useful as he was capable of after the endless months the pair had spent keeping this place in check during their absence. It’d been the least he could do. As the days turned into weeks, into months, the tension between them had begun to melt away, and in its place had sprouted something playful and fond. Taeyong would laugh whenever he’d get swatted with one of the bar towels for teasing Doyoung or pinching some of the baked goods from the counter and the elder would curse and shout, though with a smile stretched across his lips now. He’d spent more than a few nights sitting across the table from Jungwoo as they shared stories, and more days than he could count chasing Hyuck around and trying to keep the kid in check.

The tavern was as familiar to him as the castle, these days, and it felt like an extension of home — walking through the doors brought that exact same sense of warmth and comfort. Taeyong smiled at some of the familiar patrons and ruffled the hair of a few young children who darted past his legs and left childish laughter ringing in their way. It was a familiar routine, now. Gone were the days of its dark walls being filled with nought but suffering and hatred, days where it’d been a haven for the guards that’d kept them starving and broken for so long. These days it would be an understatement to call it the hub of the city. Doyoung had all but performed a miracle, turning this place around.

“Let me guess,” Doyoung spoke before Taeyong could even get his mouth open, “the king is too busy with royal affairs to finalise reports with me?”

“Busy? Of course. Not too busy for you, though — I’m just helping him out today.”

The dark-haired male often came across as indifferent or rude to those who didn’t know him better, but Taeyong had spent months slowly beginning to understand his behaviour and deciphering Doyoung’s language when it came to affection. If Kim Doyoung truly hated you, you’d know about it. Each time the human hassled him or clipped his ear, Taeyong would break into a wide smile and accuse the other of being a big old softie.

Doyoung, of course, always objected to such slander.

“Don’t go talking nonsense here, it won’t do you any good.” Despite his words, Doyoung’s features softened and he handed off the plate in his hands to Hyuck (who huffed and puff in protest, of course, but still headed out to serve) before nodding towards the doorway which lead towards the back half of the establishment. It was nothing seedy, not these days, just some extra rooms and another staircase which led upstairs — not just to the few rooms which were rented out to paying customers, but the rooms which the found-family which ran the place lived in.

“You look like you’ve had a busy morning.” Doyoung speak for, _gee, looks like you’ve been busy my darling friend, what have you been up to?_ Taeyong was pretty good at reading between the lines these days.

“A bit,” Taeyong admitted as they slipped into the room that Doyoung had seemingly allocated for his newer duties. He, along with Junmyeon, had done an incredible job at keeping the kingdom on an incline while they’d been gone, and it wasn’t something that Jongin had wanted to dismantle once they’d returned; Junmyeon had headed back north with the odd man who’d seemingly arrived from nowhere and attach himself to his side (no one knew the whole story, only that there’d been an attempt on his life and that, rather than punishing the man, Junmyeon had given him immunity. Tall guy, intense brows, didn’t talk much), but Doyoung was still here and, now, had taken on the numerous responsibilities associated with the kingdom’s finances. He was damned good at it, too.

“I went down to see how things were going in the south quarter— have you been down there? It’s incredible how far they are along already, Doie. There’s going to be a _school,_ a proper one, and I’m going to make sure that everyone can go, you know? They deserve a better shot than we had.” It brought a smile to his lips to even think about it. He’d been lucky that he’d gotten in a few good years with his parent before they’d been taken away from him, and his luck had extended far past that. They’d been good people, people who’d had the means to begin giving him some semblance of an education before they’d passed, people who’d loved him and made sure that he knew what it felt like to _be_ loved. Many others hadn’t been that fortunate.

If Taeyong could change that for even one child then it’d be more than worth it. The fact that he even had the chance to assist with all of this meant more to him than he knew how to communicate.

It was tedious work, more than anything, but then again Taeyong had never assumed that running an entire kingdom would ever be considered as something easy; they all pulled their weight as best they could to support Jongin and keep things going smoothly.Some days he felt like he was drowning under the pressure, never sure if he was doing anything right, if he was the right person for the tasks which fell his way, though those days were few and far between now, certainly far less extreme.

Doyoung settled the papers they’d been pouring over into a neat stack and shifted his gaze back to where he was sitting. His features were a little softer and there was the faintest amount of hesitation laced into his demeanour. “The people look up to you, Taeyong.”

“Doyou—“

“ _No_ , hear me out. You’re one of them. They’ve opened up to the others, sure, they adore their king, but you’ve been one of them from the start.”

“So has Mark.”

“Not like you, Taeyong, and you know it. You’ve always been here. There’s been . . . some apprehensions here and there, but they trust you, now that they know the man you really are. You don’t see the way they watch you in the street.” Taeyong ducked his head down and focused his eyes intently on the table rather than his friend. His ears burned under Doyoung’s pointed stare.

“The people will expect Jongin to marry, eventually — not just our people, but other kingdoms. He’ll need an heir, too, though that’s not the biggest concern right now.”

Taeyong huffed quietly. “That’s not exactly possible.”

“Why not?”That made him look up. The fae’s eyes were wide and filled with a dangerous mix of emotions and speculation that left him not knowing what he was supposed to feel in that exact moment. What did he— surely not . . . _no_.

One of Doyoung’s palms came to rest on his shoulder. “I’m not suggesting he gets into some sort of political marriage, Yong, _relax_. As far as I see, he’s got six men to choose from that he’d be more than happy to marry.” Needless to say, Taeyong baulked. It was the sort of moment in which his head was spinning and it was hard to make sense of what was being suggested and the implications Doyoung’s words carried, let alone how he should respond.

“Doyoung, that’s not — just picking one person, do you have any idea how _terrible_ of an idea that is? Besides, that’s a lot of responsibility, whoever he picked might not be up for that. It’s— don’t do that to him. You _know_ how Jongin is. It’ll do more harm than good.” What would that even look like? Jongin was king, so his partner would be . . . what, King Consort? Something along those lines, probably. It’d need to be someone who was strong and dedicated to the kingdom, someone who could play niceties with other nobles but could also perform their duties with determination. Someone who people would respect. Taemin, maybe, though he wasn’t sure if the elder would enjoy something like that. Ten? He was busy, but an incredible diplomat. Mark was . . .Mark was incredible. He’d be incredible in such a position. Now, though, he knew that Mark wouldn’t want to be anchored down with such thing. Lucas could be a good choice, too, but he doubted the other would be willing to make such a change right now, not when he had his own focuses alongside leading the royal guard. Baekhyun was _really_ good at politics, but he preferred to work in the shadows rather than share the limelight.

“How do you know they wouldn’t agree with me?” One thing about Doyoung was that . .well, he was usually right. Taeyong hated that about him sometimes.

It was something that he tried to push from his mind for the rest of the day — Doyoung’s suggestion. Instead, he focused on his tasks. Baekhyun, well, he couldn’t address that point on his list until the other returned from the northern kingdoms with Taemin, which wasn’t due to be until early tomorrow. That was fine considering that Taeyong often had more things to do in his day than he had the time for, by duty or choice. Today he figured he could afford to mix it up a little.

He’d known Taeil for a long time, since he was a child, at least, and he knew him a lot better than he’d known, for example, Doyoung. On occasion he’d spent time with the elder when he was younger, before the invasion all those years ago — his mother had left him under the watchful eye of the baker’s children, namely their eldest. He didn’t remember much of Taeil from back then, but he’d been somewhat close to the family as he’d grown up, trading favours and trying to help each other survive.

He was incredibly familiar with the smells and sounds associated with the bakery, but he was still getting used to hearing Donghyuck’s voice more often than not. Anyone would have to be blind not to see the way the youngster looked at Taeil — hell, even Taeil wasn’t oblivious to it, but Taeyong knew from a few conversations and other interactions he’d observed that there was apprehension, there. If Taeyong was being completely honest, he couldn’t quite fathom _why_ Taeil kept running away from it, especially given that he had no room to argue with the way he looked at Donghyuck like he was the sun. Sure, Donghyuck was younger, but he wasn’t a kid, not anymore, and this was no passing phase; from what he’d heard he’d been mooning after Taeil for years, now. That took serious dedication, and . . . something a little more.

Taeyong often tried to resist the urge to meddle, but it was hard. He wanted the people in his life to be happy — how could he sit back and watch, knowing they could be happier if they simply looked at things from a different perspective.

Donghyuck was perched on the edge of the counter and swinging his feet back and forth with a group of younger children gathered around him, playfully swatting and teasing their hair as they giggled and darted around; it wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, these days, nor was the way their heads turned at the jingle of the bell above the door and their faces lit up when they realised who it was.

“Yong-yong!”

“Hyung!”

“Yongie!”

Taeyong’s lips split into a wide grin as he dropped down into a squat and scooped the first kid who reached him up into his arms (albeit with the slightest of grunts). “Yah, you’re all getting so big!” He teased as he balanced Jieun on his hip — he’d been there when she’d been born, what, seven years ago? It was hard to fathom. “Is Taeil-hyung spoiling you all again?”

That earned him a chorus of high-pitched responses and excited squeals that he translated into a resounding yes.

“Little brats,” Donghyuck snorted fondly. Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“Hey,” an all too familiar voice called out, accompanied by some shuffling and the creek of a wooden door before Taeil finally came back into view carrying a basket of baked goods. This was a _thing_ , these days: any product which had burnt edges or imperfections and wasn’t good enough to sell (though Taeyong knew for a fact that the elder was very flexible with what was classified as an imperfection) would be collected and handed off to the families who could use some extra food here and there, as well as the kids that passed by.

Taeil’s father had always been amicable and pleasant, but he was a product of his time and his son . . . Taeil was something else entirely. He was the sort of man who anyone would trust the moment they set eyes on him and Taeyong would say without a doubt that he was also one of the kindest, most trustworthy people he’d ever met. Taeil’s family had never been well off yet even now he continued to try and help the community as best he could whilst still helping to support his siblings. The bounds of his heart seemed infinite.

“No bickering.” The older male was smiling even as he chided them (not that there was any real heat behind his words, just a playful warmth that seemed to follow him everywhere).

The basket, which was already rather sizeable, was filled right to the brim with enough bread to make anyone sick, but something as simple as bread was enough to make the kids look like they’d just been given the best gift imaginable; these children had grown up like he had except for the fact that he, at least, had known some of the good before all the pain and suffering. They’d been born right into it. Food, no matter how it tasted, had been a blessing.

“Do you have any sweets in the back?” Taeyong asked casually as he procured the pouch from the side of his belt and ruffled through it for a few coins. Jongin had told them all they would want for nothing, and he’d certainly kept true to that promise, perhaps more so than necessary, but Taeyong couldn’t deny that he much preferred using the money he’d earned himself — not because he felt bad accepting charity or anything of that sort, not anymore at least, but because it felt incredibly satisfying to be able to earn his own money in the first place. Not just enough to barely scrape by, but enough to survive and indulge in small luxuries.

“Sweet buns?”

“You know me too well, hyung,” the fae teased as he handed over a generous pile of coins. He always included a tip. “I’ll take whatever you have. It seems like I can never bring home enough of them, you know? Every time I leave they’re asking if I'll stop by.” Bringing home one of these buns was one of the biggest mistakes he’d made, gods. They descended on them like a pack of starving dogs every time he brought them home. That being said, they were absolutely mouthwatering.

Taeil let out a chuckle before accepting the coins — they’d done this enough times that he’d stopped arguing about the extra one, though he tried to get back at him by adding extras more often than not — and heading back to grab the sweet buns from the back room. He was only gone a few minutes, but in that time Taeyong leant his hip against the counter and listened as they all spoke over each other to tell him about their day. There wasn’t much of a chance to get a word in, but that was okay; they seemed more than content for him to just _um_ and _ah_ at their exaggerated recounts.

He’d become so invested in all of them that sometimes . . . sometimes it was hard to remember that they weren’t his responsibility. They all had families who cared for them, some still had their parents, whether it was one or both — they weren’t his children. That was okay, though. Taeyong was . . . content, with this. Whatever he could be for them, even if it was just a friendly face, was enough for him.

“Here you go,” Taeil exhaled as he set another basket down in front of him, filled to the brim with those sinful sweet buns of his, “I’ll make sure to direct all the complaints to the castle when people ask why I’m out of them again.”

“Tell them it’s because their king has a penchant for late-night snacks,” Taeyong laughed, enticing giggles from their little crowd. Rather than picking it up to go the fae moved it down to his feet once he set Jieun down and dropped to a kneel by it, his eyes sparkling as he beckoned them all closer. “One each,” he reminded them as they pushed and shoved to be the first in line, their faces filled with childish joy and excitement. “And eat them slowly, otherwise you’ll be sick— and remember, it’s our little secret.”

“And you say _I_ spoil them,” Taeil snorted.

“What about me, hyung?” Donghyuck whined in a saccharine little tone that was accompanied by an exaggerated pout. Taeyong rolled his eyes but still lobbed one of the buns in his direction — which he caught with ease. “Ah, I knew you were my favourite for a reason.”

“Don’t you pretend that Taeil doesn’t fatten you up with sweets whenever you ask.”

“Hyuckie is always eating sweets,” Jihoon (one of the younger boys with a mop of brown hair and a penchant for trouble) dubbed in a sing-song voice through a mouth full of bun, “but Taeil-hyung gives us sweets, too! That’s why he’s _my_ favourite.” Donghyuck gasped in mock offence and covered his chest with his hand.

“Yeah, well, he’s my favourite too.”

“But you just said _Yongie_ was your favourite.”

“I—“

“Taeil-hyung is _mine_. Right, hyung?” The little boy had the nerve to look up at the elder with a faux-innocence that could rival Donghyuck’s (who was gaping in disbelief and fumbling over his words) as he shuffled closer to Taeil’s leg. Said man looked a little lost, a little amused, and a little panicked.

Taeyong was just trying not to lose his composure at the fact that Donghyuck was being taunted by a six-year-old.

“Dream on, brat — hyung is mine, right, _hyung_?”

Poor Taeil.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Taeyong hummed as he stood and pushed down the laughter he’d been fighting. “ _Good luck,_ ” he added, quieter, under his breath. It left a smile on his face as he walked back through the main square and began the long road back up to the castle. He got maybe, what, a quarter of the way? Maybe that, and then he felt a telltale caress in the back of his mind that was almost as familiar to him as breathing nowadays. That smile morphed into a grin that made his cheeks ache with the effort of it as he spun around and started running back down the road, basket in hand.

A few people no doubt saw him running through the streets like he was being chased, and a few of them probably thought he was crazy, but that was the last of his worries in that moment; all he could focus on was that feeling, the way it kept growing and growing, something he could only liken to the feeling you got when you were close to home. It was warm waves lapping at the recesses of his mind, gentle and familiar, something that slipped past all his wards with no effort — not because they were trying, but because there was a small chink in the intricate mental armour Taeyong had built for himself, and it was shaped just for him.

They weren’t expected back until tomorrow, yet their horses were already being led away to the stables when his pounding feet on the stoned path grew close enough for them to hear. It was Baekhyun who looked up first, surprised, before offering a tired but loving smile and nudging Taemin; the warlock was already grinning fondly by the time he finally looked up, no doubt because he’d known he was coming since Taeyong had first sensed him.

He at least had the sense to set the buns down before he launched himself at Taemin and almost knocked them both to the ground. “You’re back early,” he exhaled as he tucked himself as close to the taller male as physically possible and tangled his fingers in whatever material he could grab. Taeyong wasn’t that small, not really (though some of his lovers would claim otherwise), but he’d perfected the art of making himself as small as possible to fit into their arms. It was one of his favourite feelings.

“Mm.”

“It’s because _someone_ was antsy to come back,” Baekhyun snorted fondly from behind them. After a few moments, Taeyong separated himself from Taemin and twisted around so that he could pull Baekhyun into a tight hug, too, rocking them from side to side and burying his face into his shoulder.

“Missed you both so much.

“I missed you too, beautiful.”

“That’s not why we came back early,” Taemin mused as he wrapped them both up in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Taeyong’s head. “It’s because _someone_ couldn’t play nice and would’ve ended up causing trouble if we hadn’t left.”

“Can you blame me?” Baekhyun huffed. “He’s like a cockroach! What are the chances he’d end up in Minseok’s kingdom after all this time, huh? I don’t trust him. He’s up to something, he has to be— he’s only been granted the king’s favour because Junmyeon vouched for him and asked for it. I don’t want to see them all dragged into whatever trouble is going to come his way.”

Taeyong almost asked who, but there was only one person who could rile Baekhyun up like this, and that was Huang Zitao. No one had seen him since they’d landed and he’d headed off — something that’d surprised Taeyong, given that he’d been assuming that the other would stay on board given the friendship he’d struck with Sehun, especially. Despite everything, he didn’t hate Tao. Didn’t even necessarily dislike him. That being said, he didn’t really understand him, either, he just knew that he wasn’t a bad man at heart, simply someone who’d been led astray and used as a pawn for someone else’s bidding. He knew how that felt.

“They’re big boys, Baekhyun, they can take care of themselves. Besides, he’s not that bad.” Baekhyun groaned and slumped against him a bit more.

“Not you too.”

“Sorry — but, I do have sweet buns. Does that make up for it?” Baekhyun pulled back just enough to meet his gaze and smirked — a playful little thing that had his eyes twinkling.

“A man after my own heart.”

Needless to say, everyone was beyond elated at the fact that the duo had returned before they were expected. Whilst Taeyong had been guilty of _almost_ knocking Taemin over when he’d seen him, that was nothing in comparison to the way Lucas downright barrelled the pair when he walked in to see them; at least they’d already both been sitting down, so the fall hadn’t been overly extreme, but even if it had been he doubted they would’ve cared with the way the pair laughed and doted over the younger male. It was practically impossible to be annoyed when it came to Lucas.

Ten was subjected to similar treatment as soon as he ventured within in arm’s reach. A mass of hands had reached forward to tug him down into the pile of bodies and, whilst he’d pretended for only a few seconds to be averse to it, he was quick to melt under the affections as playful kisses were dropped anywhere they could reach. “You’re lucky I love you,” Ten huffed under his breath. There was no denying the affection in his voice, though.

“Mm, we are,” Taemin mumbled into his hair. It was a bit of a mess, not the most comfortable, not the way they were all sprawled across various cushions with tangled limbs and bony bits pressing into the occasional rib, but there wasn’t really anywhere that Taeyong would rather be. His head was pillowed on Baekhyun’s thigh, which was in turn thrown across Ten, who was cuddled back against Taemin’s chest; Lucas was sort of sprawled over all of them with his waist just below Taeyong’s head and his legs over Ten and Taemin, though with his cheek smushed against Baekhyun’s chest.

They were just missing two people. One of them was out of reach for now, but Jongin . . . Jongin was back earlier than expected. There was a bit of a furrow above his brow and a tightness in his shoulders but it all seemed to slowly melt out of him as he caught sight of them draped across each other in their lounge. They ate in here, sometimes, or just spent time in each other’s company with the windows open and drapes billowing in the breeze (sometimes doing things which would make anyone blush), and it was a space that was just theirs. It was no surprise he’d found them here.

Their king toed off his boots and kicked them off to the side haphazardly before shuffling forward to join them as they wiggled to make a spot for him between them. Taeyong giggled just a little when he ended up with his head pillowed on Lucas’s ass (which made him laugh, too, something that reverberated through they doggy pile) and Ten carding through his hair as Taeyong himself readjusted to drape an arm over his stomach. “Hard day?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. Taeyong traced the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek with his gaze, admiring his perfect profile and the peaceful look that’d settled over his face once he closed his eyes. “They’re all stubborn bastards. They’re coming around, though. Sicheng is good at keeping them in check.” One eye creaked open just enough to look at him and Jongin’s lips twitched. “Would you like to come tomorrow, Yong?”

Taeyong didn’t even hesitate before nodding. “It’s been a while since I got to see Yuta, and it’ll be nice to see the others, too.”

“You’re right. I’m sure he’ll love to see you again. Gods knows he was talkative today.”

It was like the world slowed down; Taeyong could hear the erratic thumping in his chest and the way his own breath hitched but it felt a bit like an out of body experience. “What?” He asked, though the word didn’t feel like his own. “What did you— _what?_ ”

Jongin broke into a blinding grin. “He’s awake, sweetheart. Scared the shit out of them — one of the healers went in to check on him and he was trying to put his shoes on, asked him when breakfast was.”

It was so much all at once. He was happy and relieved and excited and he just— Taeyong surged forward to press their lips together as an incredulous laugh spilt past his lips and wetness trailed down his cheeks. “He— oh gods, he’s okay. _He’s okay_ ,” he repeated in a trembling voice.

Baekhyun cuddled in closer. “What did I tell you, huh? Yuta wouldn’t go out without a fight. He's stubborn like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for _epilogue, pt.2_


	27. chapter twenty seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Taeyong had ever wanted was a family - it'd been a dream, until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try not to ramble, but honestly, I can't pretend that I'm not incredibly emotional posting this. I started writing ALW back in February and, since then, this project had blown up into something of monumental proportions that I can't see myself ending for quite some time. Just because the main storyline that I originally started has technically come to an end doesn't mean this series is over, not by a long shot. Your support has been my sole motivation to continue writing during the year and I just want to let you all know how much every kudos, every comment, every little interaction, truly meant to me. It's been a tough year for everyone, me included, and even when I sometimes felt like giving up that love kept me going and gave me to strength to keep writing - something I'm immeasurably grateful for.
> 
> To those who've been with me and the boys since the start, I owe you everything. I hope I've lived up to your expectations.
> 
> To those who've joined us along the way, I love y'all just as much and I can't thank you enough for giving these fics a chance (especially since I rlly need to go back and edit ALW lmao)
> 
> There'll be plenty more fics in this verse focusing on side characters and dynamics as well as request fics I'll be finishing, but there'll also be lots of mentions and cameos of the main boys, too! Like I could ever just leave them behind. It's ridiculous just how much these characters have grown on me over the last eight months. This epilogue also sets up for a lot of these upcoming fics, so see how many hints you can pick up on - would love to hear theories! Some new characters get introduced in relation to that.
> 
> So, clocking in at a whopping 149k, Bloodlines is now complete.
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for the next fic, Blood Rites, which will be a Yuta and Sicheng centric fic which will explore both of their backstories in more detail + pick up where this leaves off. The best place to find updates about upcoming content + teasers etc is my twitter, @peachxi1. You can also find me on cc under @peachxumars, feel free to talk to me about anything, fic-related or not! I love talking to all of you.
> 
> Once again, I love you all sm. 
> 
> (P.S. sorry this is so long aye, I had so much I wanted to cover and probably could've included another 10k this was never supposed to be so long but I love them ;;;; w my whole heart and they always make me muse too hard)

Taeyong was nervous. He didn’t know why he was nervous — it was just Yuta, after all — but he was. Ever since Jongin had informed him of the other’s awakening late yesterday there’d been butterflies in his stomach; not the sort that gently fluttered inside him, something soft and timid, but rather the sort that felt like they were clawing at his insides, delicate wings beating up a storm that had him feeling queazy all through the night.

He’d hesitated in front of the portal for minutes before he’d dared step through. The silence of the dungeon didn’t do him any favours, either, as it left him vulnerable to the mess that was his mind in that moment. Taeyong shifted from one foot to the others before reaching out to trail his fingers over the shifting, mirror-like surface of the portal; at first glance it could probably be mistaken as one, until you noticed how it shifted and writhed under the light, growing more restless each time someone came near, reacting to their presence. The fae stared at his reflection momentarily before stepping through.

There hadn’t been any expectation of someone waiting for him on the other side even though they’d undoubtedly know he was bound to come through soon, but it was a pleasant surprise to have Dejun standing there with a warm smile. He only got a few steps forward before the taller male was wrapping arms around him and patting his back as they rocked a little on their feet. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Gods, you too,” Taeyong breathed as they finally pulled back from the embrace, though he did squeeze Dejun’s shoulders one last time for good measure. “Are you doing well? Your hands? Ten told me you had trouble a few weeks back—“

Dejun interrupted with a hushed laugh and nodded. “I’m fine, I swear. See?” To be fair, they did look good. Better, even, than how Taeyong had expected they would heal. Dejun had pretty hands, Taeyong had decided a while ago, and the scars didn’t change that, even if they did affect his mobility and use of them to a degree. He was lucky that he could use them at all after what he’d endured, but they had magic to thank for that; shattered bones and severed nerves had been reconnected and moulded as best as possible to give him the greatest chance he could at regaining use of them. Even now the scars looked years older than they should’ve — just pale white lines which shone under the light and crisscrossed his hands and fingers, a bit more gnarled in some places. Unless you looked closely it was hard to see them at first glance, just like it took a focused stare to see the way some of his knuckles were still a little crooked or the bend in a few fingers. “They were shaking a lot during practice but the medicine you sent through helped. I just need to see working to make them stronger.”

“As long as you don’t overwork yourself.”

Dejun snorted and rolled his eyes playfully as he pulled his hands back to cross them over his chest. “Me? Overwork myself? _Never_.” They both knew he was joking — it was a shortcoming that he shared with his brothers, after all, after living so long in a place which had never allowed for them to slow down, let alone for them to take a break. It was different now, though. Even so, it took time to change habits which were so heavily ingrained into their everyday.

“Come on. He’ll be eager to see you.”

His heart was playing an inconsistent bet as they made their way through recognisable halls; most of the inhabitants of the house were no doubt out and about considering the hour, but there were a few faces along the way that sent Taeyong welcoming smiles and little waves. It was a nice gesture that assisted in lifting some of the weight off his shoulders. There was nothing to prepare for, not really, but Taeyong found that he still felt irrefutably unprepared as came to a stop in front of a door he’d opened far too many times. A reassuring hand settled on his shoulder and offered a squeeze of solidarity before falling away. “Relax.”

Easier said than done.

Once Taeyong was alone his fingers curled around the door handle and just . . . rested there for a moment. The metal was ice cold under his touch, chilled by the winter air, so harsh he felt as though it was trying to pull the moisture from his skin as he stood there, just holding it, trying to understand why he was nervous about being reunited with his friend after everything that’d happened.

The door opened by itself before he could gather the courage; Sicheng stared at him with wide eyes, not unlike a startled deer, before his features softened beyond what he was used to. Only by a little, but it was a noticeable difference for the fae. There was no tightness between his brows nor a frown pulling at his lips, and if anything Taeyong felt as though the other male almost looked demure in that moment, his eyes smiling. “Taeyong.”

“Sicheng,” he replied gently. It was awkward for maybe half a moment, a tangible stickiness tense between them before Taeyong shifted forward to hug the other male.

Unlike the last time he’d tried such a thing, Sicheng didn’t quite feel like a stiff plank of wood. A slightly pliable one, this time, one that had some give and actually reciprocated to a degree with an awkward yet endearing hand on his back. “It’s good to see you again.” And he meant it. There was no point dwelling on the past when it came to things that hadn’t exactly been within their control, especially given that nothing Sicheng had done had been with ill intent. “How have you been?” He asked genuinely once he pulled back.

“It’s good to see you, too,” the dark-haired sorcerer admitted quietly. “It’s been . . . hard. But we’re getting through it — together.” _Together_. That in itself was enough to let Taeyong know that he’d been right to give Sicheng another chance, even if he’d had moments where he’d wished he hadn’t. With the burden he carried Sicheng needed to be able to trust those closest to him wholeheartedly, to be able to rely on them, to work with them. He needed them to keep him in check and make sure he didn’t spiral under the crushing weight of his responsibilities.

“Stop hogging him,” a playful, tired voice called from only a few feet away. Taeyong didn’t have much chance to process it before Yuta’s face was popping into view beside Sicheng. He was dressed in comfortable, plain clothes which hung off his form; his body was thinner than before, weaker, a little more pallid, and that applied to his face, too, but he was alive and standing and there was a light in his eyes that made him almost want to cry.

“Yuta, you’re supposed to be resting—“

“Resting smeshting, I’ve been resting for months,” the fae waved off with a charming grin. “Look, I’ll take it easy, promise, but if I have to sit in that bed for another second I’ll actually die.” It was a terrible joke, not all appropriate, really, but it was so utterly _Yuta_ that it made Taeyong grin ear-to-ear. He reached forward to tug the other close before anyone could get another word out. Even though he wanted to crush the older fae against his chest and never let go he settled for a firm yet careful hug that had him with his arms wrapped all the way around the other and his face against Yuta’s shoulder.

“ _Hyung_.”

Yuta exhaled slowly. “Oh, Yongie— hey now, don’t get upset—“

He couldn’t help it. He’d told himself he wouldn’t cry, that he’d be strong, but it’d been so long since he’d seen the other smile and laugh, since he’d heard his voice in general, and despite how positive he’d tried to be since that night, with every single month that’d passed he’d grown more and more worried that they might never have him back. Yuta was the one who’d been there for him all those months ago when he’d woken up lost and confused; he’d been his first real connection to his heritage, his mentor, his friend. It’d been impossible for Taeyong to imagine a life without him. After all, Yuta had only come here because of him. It’d been Yuta’s choice to do what he did and Taeyong wasn’t going to invalidate that in the slightest but the fact remained that Yuta had followed him here.

Yuta had craved purpose and, after everything he’d done for Taeyong, Taeyong had tried to give him that.

“Don’t you ever do that to us again,” Taeyong demanded in a wobbly mess of words as the other male smoothed over his hair and tried to reassure him. “You’re not allowed to die, okay? I won’t allow it.” His words pulled a wet chuckle from the elder’s chest.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Taeyong forced himself to pull back after a minute or so and smoothed his hands down the other’s arms with a small sniff; there was definitive wetness in his eyes but thankfully he hadn’t truly started crying as he’d feared. He’d be okay. Yuta was thin, but it was nothing a good diet wouldn’t fix, and as for the weakness that hung in the air around him, that was something that could be improved naturally over time and with some help from Taeyong.

Sicheng cleared his throat a little before offering them both a small nod and declaring his leave, “I’ll leave you two to talk for a while, okay? If you need anything just ask.” Even after the dark-haired human had left the room, Taeyong found himself thinking that he’d looked . . . well, he wasn’t certain, but he felt as though there’d almost been a resigned sadness lingering in Sicheng’s eyes.

“Be honest with me,” he insisted as soon as they were alone and sitting side by side on the window seat, “how are you?”

“I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” Despite the way the other had instantly tried to deflect from his question, Taeyong didn’t give up — instead he sat and waited, patient as ever. Eventually, Yuta sighed. “Tired. Not like I need to sleep, gods, but . . . it took a lot out of me.”

“Understandable.”

“Listen, Taeyong, I—“ Yuta held a hand up to silence him when he tried to interject and fixed him with a firmer look, something more reminiscent of what he was used to. “Let me finish. I’m sorry. I know you’ll say I don’t have any reason to be, but I do. I promised you that I wouldn’t leave your side and I did. I indirectly put you in danger because of my own selfishness. I know how worried you must have been, how much it must have hurt you, and I can’t apologise enough for that. But I . . . I’m going to ask something selfish of you, Taeyong.”

Taeyong’s brows knitted together ever so slightly as he reached out to cover one of the other fae’s hands with his own. Even as they sat together and spoke he was gently pushing tendrils of energy forth, trying to fill the gaps that Yuta had in his own magic. His power would slowly rebuild itself anyway, but there was nothing wrong with giving it a kickstart, especially when it’d help him heal quicker. Despite the fact he had no visible injuries there was still insurmountable damage. Their bodies simply weren’t made to contain power like that; it was like poison.

 _‘You’ve never been selfish in your life,’_ was what Taeyong wanted to say, but instead what he answered with was, “of course, Yuta — anything.”

“I . . . I never thought it’d be like this, but I just— it’s been so long since I’ve felt like I’ve had a home, Yong.” Taeyong knew that. Even the quaint little home which Yuta had made for himself in the deep recesses of the forest hadn’t been home for him. He’d tried to fill it with life with his magic, had tried to fill the void in his heart and head with the plants he tended to and the creatures he’d saved, but it’d never been home. He’d spent countless years before that serving his people and dedicating his life to them, yet he’d never had a true home there. He’d followed Taeyong to another world, but that hadn’t felt like home for him either.

He knew that Yuta had grown fond of the people here. They accepted him, regardless of his quirks — if anything they embraced them. None of them looked at the things he was capable of with his magic and deemed him a freak or a monster. Yuta had worked his ass off to earn their trust and, somewhere along the way, he’d found a place where he felt like he belonged. The Lieshou had taken him under their wing, even, and Sicheng . . . well, Taeyong didn’t know where he stood.

“You want to stay here, with them — with him,” Taeyong finally deduced. There was no bitter accusation in his voice, no anger and betrayal, even though there were very small parts of him which felt all of that and more. Deep down, maybe he’d known this was coming. Maybe that was why he’d been so nervous to face it.

Yuta had always needed purpose. As a child, he’d been given the guard, and once he’d been ripped from that he’d stumbled through life, lost in the wind, unsure of himself. Taeyong had been able to fulfil that need momentarily but he knew it’d never been enough; he’d had his lovers to rely on once he’d returned. These people would need him for a long time. Sicheng was someone he believed in and trusted.

“They’ll be good for you,” he reassured thickly, “and you’ll be good for them, too. As soon as you’re well enough you have to visit me, though.”

The dark-haired fae smiled through shining tears and wiped at his face with the backs of his hands. “Like you could keep me away even if you tried to.”

—

“He deserves to be happy.”

“You’re right,” Lucas agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t be upset.”

—

Sometimes Taeyong felt like he simply couldn’t catch a break. Last night was supposed to be _their_ night yet instead he’d been called off just as they’d been retiring for the night due to an accident that’d happened in the south quarter; it wasn’t anyone’s fault, really, and he never would’ve chosen to stay behind over his work, but he felt like he still had a right to be bitter. It’d been a long night of setting bones and keeping his hands steady as he stitched bruised skin back together to try and fix the damage that’d been caused by a mistake in construction. Frankly, it was a miracle no one had died.

He hadn’t let himself dwell on what he was missing out on. They’d all been flooded with work as of late and it’d been weeks since they’d had the time to take so long just for themselves — after Baekhyun had returned after lunch they’d all been free of responsibilities, and (foolishly, he lamented) they’d thought they had all the time in the world to savour it. Sex wasn’t everything but it’d been so long since he’d had more than an hour here and there to sneak off and steal heated kisses. Of course, those kisses rarely stayed as _just_ kisses. It was inevitable that hands would wander and the air would grow more heated, that someone would get excited.

Still, it could never compare to when they had the time to savour each other and relax.

By the time he’d finally gotten back to the castle it’d only been an hour or two before dawn already. Whilst Taeyong had wanted nothing more than to slip into their shared bed and fall asleep tangled against his lovers the last thing he wanted to do was wake them, and besides, he really needed the rest — unbroken rest, something he wouldn’t get with them given they’d be waking up in a few hours. Instead, he’d wandered back to his apothecary and unpacked all his equipment — making sure it was clean and ready to go in an emergency — before falling down onto the bed he hadn’t touched in months.

It was rather hilarious how quickly he fell asleep. One moment he was awake and mourning the warm arms he was used to draping over himself and the next he was out like a light. It was a dreamless sleep, the sort born of complete and utter exhaustion. Taeyong doubted he even moved an inch other than the rise and fall of his chest.

It didn’t last long.

The sun was still golden and barely above the horizon when he was gently shaken awake. The white-haired male let out an almost pained groan and desperately tried to fumble for the last tendrils of sleep as they escaped him and buried his face down into the pillow. “No,” he half-whined, half-sobbed. To be fair Baekhyun did look incredibly apologetic when he finally opened his eyes and looked up at the man who’d disturbed his slumber.

“I’m sorry, beautiful,” the elder murmured quietly as he smoothed pale strands back out of his face; Taeyong pressed his face into it like a kitten seeking affection and groaned again. In the end, he had to resign himself to the fact that sleep wasn’t in the cards for him. “You know I wouldn’t wake you up unless I had to.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not really sure, which is why I woke you up: three men have been waiting in the main courtyard for over an hour and they refuse to leave. One of them insists you know him— Jung Jaehyun, I think he said?” _Jaehyun_? It took Taeyong a few seconds longer than usual in his sleepy state to put the name to a face, but once he did he was flooded with memories of that small town what seemed like an eternity ago. Oh, that Jaehyun, but why would he be here?

“Did he say why?” Baekhyun shook his head. The fae huffed a little before pushing himself up to sit and raked hands back through his hair to try and get it to sit somewhat decently. He knew he didn’t look pretty; he could practically feel the bags under his eyes. “Let me put some pants on and then I’ll be out.”

“Nice ass,” the elder mentioned when he pushed the blankets back and stood, “we missed it last night.”

“Don’t remind me,” he all but whined.

Usually Taeyong would dress himself up a little better if he had to entertain guests, whether it was one of his people or one of the nobles Jongin needed to impress. He’d never really thought about fashion much before — had never had the means or money to consider it — but now, even though he liked to remember his roots, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed taking pride in his appearance. It was a means of expression he’d simply never been allowed before.That being said, he was in no mood to dress up today. The loose grey tunic he’d fallen asleep in stayed on and he didn’t bother tying the front though, once he’d pulled up some slack, he did cinch it at the waist with one of his belts. It was a similaroutfit to what he would’ve worn before he’d met them, save for the fact that all of the material was so soft and lush rather than scratchy.

The winding, endless corridors of the castle were so ingrained into his memory by now that Taeyong could probably navigate them with his eyes closed, but he wasn’t about to test that theory, so instead he focused on following Baekhyun and resting his mind as they headed down to where his guests awaited. He didn’t understand why Jaehyun was here or why he wouldn’t say it to anyone else— or, for that matter, why he was asking specifically for him in the first place. Sure, he knew Taeyong, but Mark and Jongin had also been there that day. Mark wasn’t here, but Jongin, he was, and he was certainly a much higher authority.

Stepping outside wasn’t pleasant. It was below freezing and the winter sun, sitting so much lower in the sky, was like a laser burning into his retinas. Taeyong had to stop and squint a few times as he adjusted to the intense light that was already starting a dull ache in his temples before he could focus on the courtyard and the figures within.

Jaehyun didn’t look far off the image that Taeyong had gathered in his memories, but there were small differences that he picked up on, like the way he was a little tanner than he had been or the way he looked far healthier, which was understandable given he’d been sick back then. His hair shone honey-brown, near golden under the early-morning sun and his cheeks were flushed with the cold weather, bundled up in a warm coat. Even so, he grinned when he caught sight of Taeyong, flashing a dimpled smile as he stepped forward and away from his— oh, his companions.

The first thing he noticed was that the pair were both tall. The second was that they were both _fae_.

Taeyong couldn’t help the way he instinctively tensed, one hand twitching by his side like the wanted to reach for some sort of defence, but the fact was he hadn’t thought to bring any sort of weapon. Magic was even better, especially against other fae, except for the fact he was outnumbered and had Baekhyun only a few feet away.

He wasn’t exactly on the best terms with fae; the elders didn’t like him after he’d rescinded his claim and refused to play by their political games. He’d also technically broken laws sneaking out, with an outlaw no less. Beyond that, they weren’t supposed to be here. Not just _here_ , but in this world, either. That was part of the clauses they’d put in place after Seungyoun to prevent something similar from happening. Maybe one day they could coexist, but that day wasn’t today, or anytime in the near future.

“Jaehyun, what—“

“Hey, look, I promise no one’s here to start trouble, okay? I wouldn’t bring them here if they were. I promise.”

Taeyong ground his teeth together as he tried to process it. “So you know?”

“That they’re fae? Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t believe it at first but it’s hard not to see it, right? Johnny told me everything about, you know, you, and everything that happened — it was just pure luck really that I sort of knew you and that they were trying to find you.”

“I assure you, Your Highness, we mean no harm.” The tallest one stepped forward and Taeyong’s eyes instantly snapped to him. He was ridiculously tall, easily as tall as Lucas if not taller, with high cheekbones and dark brown hair which hung over each side of his forehead, plush lips. His ears were as pointed as Yuta’s except they were partially covered, as though he’d purposely styled his hair to try and draw less attention to them. He was a little intimidating, especially once you took into consideration the heavy sword hanging at his side which was encrusted with an emblem Taeyong was familiar with — the mark of the Hunt.

The Hunt was the highest order of the guard and those who were directly sworn to the royal family; they were both highly feared and revered. Taeyong knew this because Yuta had been one of them.

“You don’t need to call me that,” Taeyong offered tersely. There was no real aggression in his voice, just underlying suspicion and confusion. It was hard _not_ to see them as a threat. Taeyong had fought long and hard for those he had the honour to call his family and there was nothing that he wouldn’t do in order to keep them safe; losing them was unimaginable, living without them absolutely impossible. “I relinquished my claim — I’m just a person.”

“Forgive me for disagreeing, but you’re still part of the royal family even if you’re not included in the line of succession. Our people still acknowledge you and what you contributed during your stay.” That was a surprise to him. He hadn’t been there for very long, not in the eyes of the fae, and the things he had done with the power he’d been afforded had been small in his eyes — certainly not anything fun or interesting. All he’d put in place were rules. Rules that made sure there wouldn’t be a repeat of that day. Of all the prior years or pain and suffering and betrayals and deaths.

“Still. You can call me Taeyong, now. What should I call you?”

The man stared at him for a moment before ducking his head down ever slightly as a show of respect. “Johnny, Your Highness, and this is . . . my companion, Jisung.” Neither name sparked any sort of recognition for him.

Taeyong offered a slow nod before holding out his hand between them as he met Johnny’s gaze. “It’s nice to meet you then, Johnny.” It was easy to see that the other male was hesitating to take his hand, understandable why, even, but nonetheless, after a few moments, the fae did reach out and shake. Tentative but firm.

Taeyong’s lips curled slightly at the corners before he shifted his gaze over to the other man — Jisung — though maybe man was too strong of a word; his cheeks still held a hint of boyish roundness and there was something in his eyes he could only describe as youthful naivety, something you tended to lose as you grew older. He looked young for a human, just barely on the cusp of manhood, maybe, but as a fae that meant he was far younger. Taeyong himself was considered incredibly young, almost a child, so surely he would be considered one. He felt young, too, but _strong_ for his age. He’d guess the boy had a good hold on his abilities given how it was a pleasant lull in the air around him rather than the ripples Taeyong still found himself sending out sometimes.

“You too, Jisung. Now, if you’d prefer for us to talk somewhere private that’s fine, but I would like to know why you’re here.”

Johnny inhaled sharply. “It’s a delicate iss—“

“I came here looking for my brother,” Jisung interjected quietly. He seemed a little shy, but not insecure — nervous, maybe?

“Your . . . brother?” There were no fae here other than himself. He’d know if there was. Well, there was Yuta, but Yuta was in Weishen, was most of the time other than when he popped through to say his hellos, and he sure as hell didn’t have a brother. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Very sure. I didn’t even know I had a brother until recently,” the young fae admitted. “I want to get to know him, if he’ll have me, and I want his help. They’ve been teaching me everything I need to know for when I come of age, but I thought my brother might be able to help me, seeing as he has more experience running kingdoms.”

Taeyong was a little ashamed of how long it took him. All he could do was stare for what seemed like minutes, the faintest of creases between his brows and an obvious confusion in his eyes as he mulled over each of Jisung’s words, trying to string them into something that made sense. Slowly, that confusion morphed into something halfway between disbelief and hope. Surely he couldn’t mean . . . no, that was impossible, right? His mother had died when he was just young, with no other children. His father had died a few years later, too, and for that to— the child would’ve had to have been conceived so close to his death for it to be possible.

Part of him wanted to deny it. It wasn’t possible. Except, it made sense. Why else would a member of the Hunt be here, no doubt as his escort? Why else would they be here in general? His father had been infamous for his infidelity and his bastards, so why should he assume that he was the last of them? So many siblings, he'd had - he didn't even know all their names, nor how they'd died, only that they'd died in pursuit of what he'd been offered and subsequently turned down.

“He’d be a fool not to want to know you,” he found himself breathing out, proud of the way he managed to quell the shake there. “I’ve never had a brother before.”

Jisung broke into a shy grin that was wider than Taeyong had thought he was capable of. “Me either.”

—

There was a warm, damp breath cascading over his throat and shoulder, wet lips occasionally bumping against skin and large, tan hands covering his own on the silk sheets beneath them. Jongin’s body was a firm wall of muscle behind him, his cock thick and heavy where it speared him open. They’d been going at it for longer than he could remember — hours, maybe, which they didn’t usually have time for but wasn’t impossible when three of your lovers weren’t entirely human and one of them was preternaturally inclined. Their humans tended to keep up, though.

All it’d taken was one look. Taeyong staring as Lucas had tipped his head back and laughed, staring at his throat, had lead to feet hitting his own under the table, rising tension, Ten’s hand on his thigh. Next thing he knew Jongin and Baekhyun had been sucking each other’s faces off, and then they’d been in the hall with Taemin’s hands down his pants, and then in their bedroom with Lucas sucking him off greedily as Taemin sucked bruises over his throat.

And now, here they were. Jongin behind him, Baekhyun and Ten somewhere off to his right and, well, he wasn’t quite sure where Lucas and Taemin were, but he could hear them, that was for sure. They were all just . . . it was so good, like this. Sometimes Taeyong had trouble forgetting where they began and he ended when they were in moments like this, whether it was now, where Jongin was fucking him into the sheets with slow, steady thrusts that had him keening or an hour ago when he’d had Lucas sprawled out beneath him, around him, whining and babbling as Ten swallowed him down with ease.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jongin panted against his shoulder as his hips trembled against his flank. Taeyong wasn’t sure he could cum again — he’d lost count how many times it’d been, frankly — but that didn’t matter. That wasn’t the goal, not here, not tonight, not with them; it was just an added bonus. Even if he wasn’t working towards anything there was a heated buzz under his skin and an overwhelming pleasure that coursed through him. It was the kind that made his bones feel like jelly and his toes curl, the kind that could only be described as complete and utter bliss. “So good— is it good, Yongie?”

Taeyong squeezed the elder’s fingers tighter between his own and angled his head to drag a wet kiss over his jaw, neck straining. “You always make me feel good, hyung,” he praised. “You’re close, right? I can feel it.” A soft moan in confirmation as his hips stuttered. Taeyong couldn’t feed on sex and lust the way Taemin could, but he got something from this, even if he didn’t quite understand it. Jongin was so _alive_ , and it was contagious; it swallowed him down, clinging to his body and mind like a thick, syrupy molasses. 

He knew the moment Jongin finished for a number of reasons. First of all, he felt it — not just in the quivering muscles and jerky thrusts or the way his face was pressed into his shoulder, but in the way energy seemed to flare out around them in a way that was inherently human. Taeyong wished they could feel it, sometimes, how they too had magic inside of them, albeit a very different kind. Second of all, it was because Jongin had a habit of falling apart, and this time seemed to be no exception because he seemed to lose all semblance of a filter.

“ _Marry me_ ,” Jongin whispered to him. Breathless.

Taeyong’s mind blanked out and he reeled, writhing under the other in a way that was far from comfortable before he managed to (albeit gently, considering) shove the elder off and scramble back against the pillows. He— _what?_ “Have you lost your mind?” He hissed weakly. The others had no doubt heard him even if they’d been distracted, and if not they’d witnessed Taeyong’s reaction, but even so none of them seemed even remotely surprised. Taeyong had tried to put this from his mind ever since Doyoung had dared mention it — had forced it down and buried into the deep recesses of his mind, so deep that it barely had the chance to surface and plague him again.

Baekhyun groaned and sat up, wiping the sweat from his temple. “Why do you always have the worst timing? Couldn’t you have picked any time other than _right now_?”

“I— what are you talking about?” Taeyong felt a little like he was going to be sick, but . . . beyond that, Taeyong couldn’t deny that there was a very small part of him which bubbled with excitement. He’d never had time to imagine love or marriage in his youth, but there was something in him which thrived on it today, no matter how impossible he knew it was. There was no reason other than this: Jongin was a king, and whilst many would acknowledge that a king could entertain as many lovers as he desired, the world would only accept one spouse.

There was no favouritism between them, and there never would be — Taeyong certainly wouldn’t allow it for his own benefit.

“I— gods, I wasn’t going to ask like this,” Jongin cursed as he sat up and covered himself haphazardly with a sheet to try and maintain some sort of decorum. “I know Doyoung mentioned it, and I know you’re worried, but you don’t need to be.”

“How can I not be—“

“ _Taeyong_.” Ten’s face was flushed and glistening under the candlelight, but there was a seriousness written into his features now, something that he couldn’t ignore as the other crawled forward to cover his hands with his own. “Breathe. You don’t need to panic. We’ve known about this long before you ever did; Doyoung mentioned it to Jongin, who mentioned it to Taemin, and it just . . . went down the line. Jongin would never ask if we weren’t okay with it.”

“How?” Taeyong hated the way his voice wavered. How small he sounded in that moment. “How can you be okay with . . . with me being . . .”

“Because we love you too, kitten,” Taemin prompted, his words so utterly tender and soft. “We love you, and we love Jongin, and you love us — this will change nothing in our eyes.” The warlock smiled. “You’re a natural leader, Taeyong, and Jongin needs someone by his side to show a united front. I’m not suited for something like this. Baekhyun threatened violence if Jongin asked him. Ten and Lucas are already so busy with their work and have no desire to be King Consort.”

“And Mark?”

Jongin risked leaning over to press a hesitant kiss to the warm skin of his shoulder. “Mark got a letter from me before I even mentioned it to anyone else,” their king admitted. “He’s the one who said your name before anyone else could.” Taeyong would be ashamed, later, over the way he questioned them for the first time in so long. Years of deceit and loneliness and fear reared their ugly head; he looked at them all and searched for something, anything, any sign that they were lying. Part of him wanted to see his fears realised so that he had a reason to feel that way.

Of course, he would never find such a thing on their faces.

Another kiss, one that lingered. “You don’t have to answer today, or tomorrow, or ever. We’re not going anywhere."

Of course, it wasn’t that simple — it never was, was it? Taeyong wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so conflicted in his life. It wasn’t a question of whether he wanted it or not (he wanted it more than anything) but more so a matter of what was wrong and what was right. How could it be fair that he was worth all this; that he got the title, the status, the respect from others. It wasn’t as much a problem of how they saw each other as how others would see them. Taeyong would be acknowledged as Jongin’s husband, meanwhile the others would be ignored by most, seen as _less than_. He didn’t want that.

Then there was the matter of the title. King Consort.

Despite his heritage, Taeyong had been a no one for as long as he could remember, even if he hadn’t always felt like it. His first few years had been happy and fulfilled, enriched by a loving family and friends, a bittersweet precursor to everything that’d come after. A majority of his youth and early adulthood had been the absolute opposite. Somehow, afterwards, he’d managed to find a middle for himself, until he’d found out the truth about his parents and the blood that coursed through him.

He’d given up power once to be with them, and if given the same chance he’d do it again and again and again without any form of hesitation or remorse. Taeyong hadn’t been ready to lead, and he’d never wanted it, or anything, more than his lovers.

Taeyong’d learnt over time, and was still learning, sometimes, that wanting things didn’t make him selfish. That he was allowed to enjoy things.

It’d be a lot of work if he were to accept. There was a chance that he’d have to take on less of his usual work. He’d be obligated to greet guests like Jongin usually did and deal with long, stuffy meetings and dinners and hold his tongue sometimes for the sake of politics and he’d be expected to represent their kingdom. It was more responsibility than he’d ever dreamed of, but . . . it didn’t scare him off. Taeyong wanted to do good — he wanted to make changes, _real_ changes, changes that’d make a positive difference not just for those with power or wealth.

He wanted to be there for Jongin.

Taeyong talked with everyone. Again, and again, and again; one of them, two of them, all of them, over and over until he was sure that none of them were sugarcoating their truths to make others happy or pushing past their true feelings, over and over until he was sure that they not only agreed but wanted this, that they wouldn’t regret it.

Three weeks later, at what had to be near the middle of the night, Taeyong rolled over in bed until he faced Jongin (who was almost asleep and looking positively adorable, with pouty lips and plush cheeks) and smiled to himself. “Nini,” he teased, voice barely above a whisper but filled with unadulterated adoration. The other hummed sleepily but didn’t open his eyes; Jongin fumbled around a little before linking their hands together weakly, and Lucas’s arms tightened a little around him. “We’re already married in every way that matters, you know?” Taeyong hummed playfully. To be truthful, they might as well have been the moment they all bound themselves to Taemin. They were all bound to each other, had been for a very, very long time. “But I’d love to marry you for real, Kim Jongin, if you’ll still have me.”

Warm brown eyes finally fluttered open, blinking sleepily before they properly focused on him. Taeyong loved that he got to see the moment the realisation finally settled into the other’s mind, got to watch as his lips curled into a wide, bright smile and his eyes almost disappeared. “Yeah?” The cocky little undercurrent in his raspy voice was infuriating in the best way. “You want to be my wife?” Taeyong had to fight back a violent laugh and instead settled for lightly shoving his chest.

“Mm, as if. We both know you’re the wife,” Taeyong argued mirthfully, “you can sit there and look pretty while I do all the work.”

“I think I like the sound of that, actually. I think I’d make a good housewife.”

Taemin’s voice was tired but fond when it broke through their conversation.Taeyong could hear the smile in his voice. “You won’t make anything if you don’t hurry up and go to sleep. Both of you.”

—

Life was busy, but . . . Taeyong wasn’t sure if he’d have it any other way. The things that he filled his days with were rewarding in the most enjoyable ways and, even if there was a lot of hard work involved, not just in his usual everyday tasks but also in planning a wedding and subsequent coronation. Sometimes he still had trouble believing he’d agreed to it. That it was happening. But no matter how many times Jongin asked, his answer was always going to be the same.

As much as he’d worried, he felt this would be good for them. Taeyong was glad that he’d been apprehensive if just for the fact that it’d given him the time to really look at the situation from every possible perspective and make up his mind. It meant that, now, there was no doubt in his mind. If he was going to do this, he was going to give it his all. There would be no hesitations.

Oddly enough it’d been his brother (gods, it still made him feel so giddy to say that. His _brother_ ) that’d really helped make up his mind and subsequently eased his worries. Jisung was often quiet and reserved, but he had a habit of never beating around the bush — he was always honest, brutally so, sometimes.

“You love them, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“And they love you?”

There’d been no hesitation in that answer. “Yes.”

“You were born to rule, Taeyong, even if you don’t think so — it’s in our blood _. You_ taught me that. If this is what you want then why are you hesitating?”

Jisung had made a good point and . . . it was the only point that’d really mattered. They wanted this, after all, and so did he.

Having Jisung around was like a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, their time wasn’t a constant like it had been during those first few weeks that he’d been around, but Taeyong would drop anything for his brother if he needed it, so making time for them to spend together was always possible. The last time that Taeyong had been a brother he’d been just a kid, far younger than Jisung was now, but he liked to think that those sorts of things never went away entirely; more than that, he hoped that he could be a good brother for Jisung.

After hearing Jisung’s story, he’d resolved himself the fact that he wasn’t just going to be a good brother, he was going to be the best — the best Jisung could ever ask for. Jisung had been raised fae, but he’d never had the loving family that Taeyong had at least gotten a taste of. He’d been raised in an orphanage instead, raised as a normal, albeit shy boy, until the elders had come knocking on his door and claimed he was an heir to the throne.

Taeyong couldn’t deny that Jisung being in the capital, surrounded by all those politics, was incredibly worrisome, but it made him feel a little better to know that he’d at least had the sense to befriend Johnny. Johnny was nice, once you got to know him, and Taeyong trusted him to look after his little brother. It helped that Yuta had vouched for Johnny, having grown up with him; Johnny had been the only one to try and help him when he’d been cast out. So yeah, Johnny was okay, though by the way Jaehyun watched him you’d think the sun shone out of his ass. It was sort of cute.

He’d been an incredible influence on Jisung, too, which he was always going to be grateful for. Johnny seemed to have a way of making him come out of his shell that even Taeyong hadn’t quite mastered yet, and even if that meant Jisung standing straight before Jongin like a little soldier and telling him that if he hurt his brother he’d make sure he regretted it. It hadn’t necessarily been intimidating (especially when only hours later they’d been sitting side by side and joking hours later, which had made Taeyong’s heart soar) but it’d definitely dissolved a lot of the awkwardness between them, which was almost worth more than the sight of Jisung trying to defend his honour.

Jongin was good with kids. Sure, Jisung wasn’t technically a kid, not by human standards, but it was hard for Taeyong not to see him like one, even if Jisung _was_ taller than him. Jisung seemed to have really taken to him over the last two months and it was something he was really, really glad for; Taeyong tried to give him as much advice as he could when it came to life or the position he was going to inherit, but Jongin certainly had much more advice for his brother pertaining the latter. It was good for Jongin to have someone to watch out for, too. It was impossible to miss the pride in his eyes whenever he spoke about Jisung.

Today was one of the rare days when he had Jisung all to himself for a few hours. Ten, Lucas and Jongin had gone through their recently revamped and incredibly stable portal to help Sicheng out with some problems they’d been stumbling upon over there and, as far as he knew, Taemin was still slobbering despite the fact it was nearly midday. Taeyong couldn’t help but smirk to himself a little knowing how much he and Baekhyun had worn him out last night. Speaking of Baekhyun, the elder was meeting with Doyoung today and wouldn’t be back till later. Johnny, who took his job very seriously and was very rarely away from Jisung’s side unless a dimpled face managed to distract him, would be gone for at least the next day as he worked on sending a report back to the palace.

Jisung huffed. A few moments later he huffed again and Taeyong turned his head so that he could get a better look at his brother. They were both kneeling down on the stone path in his courtyard. The castle had countless courtyards, yes, all with different purposes, but this was his one, located in their private wing of the castle and accessible to no one else; it was the same one he’d found himself tending to when he’d first come to stay here, the one that’d slowly but surely turned from a small, decrepit garden to something beautiful and almost magical. It was his place, now. Somewhere he could come when he needed some time alone, or just to think.

Jisung didn’t really like gardening, so Taeyong appreciated that his brother put up with it for his sake.

“Here,” Taeyong prompted as he set his trowel down to lean over and set his hands over Jisung’s. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually.” Jisung’s magic was more developed than his own but they weren’t too far off each other — that being said, their specialities definitely lay elsewhere. Whilst Taeyong’s magic stemmed from life in the sense he could heal and create, or draw power from the living world, Jisung’s magic was suited more towards the mind and was still developing each and every day. Taeyong had thought that being able to share memories with Taemin was incredible, but even that was nothing on what Jisung could do or the things he might one day be capable of.

His own magic flowed through their hands to the soil beneath where they’d buried an array of seeds not long prior. Taeyong’s side had already begun to germinate with small, green sprouts beginning to poke up through the dirt, but Jisung’s side was woefully empty. “It’s all about patience with plants. If you get frustrated and push too hard they get scared, you know?” The elder hummed. Sure enough, a few moments later the fainted hint of green peaked through the granules of soil, much slower than was possible and a little sad looking. Jisung huffed again and pulled his hands away.

“What if I can’t be patient? What if I get frustrated anyway or make the wrong decision?” His younger brother ramble. “I’m not good at . . . _this_."

“ _This_ isn’t green magic, is it?” There was no judgement in Taeyong’s voice as he wiped his hand front and back on his slacks. He’d known something was weighing on the other male all morning — it was hard not to see it with the way he’d been so tense and quiet, even more so than usual. “Jisungie, you can’t be a master at everything right off the bat. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to learn and get better.”

“I have less than a year before I’m expected to ascend,” he mumbled.

“And when you do, you won’t be alone. You have Johnny and Jaehyun, right? You have me — you have _all_ of us. Oh, and Donghyuck, right? You’ve been spending time with him.” Jisung snorted, but it was a fond noise, Taeyong knew that much.

“He’s very . . . loud.”

“He is,” Taeyong laughed, “but I think you don’t mind it. It’s good for you to make friends. The thing is, Jisung, that there’s no set way that you’re supposed to rule or what sort of king you’re supposed to be; that all comes down to you. There’s no rulebook, not really. You’re the only one that can decide what sort of man you want to be, and more than anything, you need to be _you_ , because Jisung . . . you’re incredible, and I, for one, have the utmost faith in you. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it.”

Jisung was quiet for a long minute before he finally met Taeyong’s gaze again. “Sometimes . . .” he trailed off, but Taeyong didn’t interject or question him about what he’d been going to say; sometimes you needed to patient, rather than to push. “Sometimes I feel like we’ve known each other longer than we have. I wish that I’d had you growing up.” He knew how hard it was for his younger brother to gather the courage to vocalise such sentiments, and that was why his words meant all the more to Taeyong, more than he could ever express. All he could do was offer Jisung a bright smile before reaching forward to wrap his arms around the younger. Jisung wasn’t always big on physical affection like this, but today, at least, he simply patted his back rather than going as stiff as a plank.

“Me too, but we have each other now, and that’s all that matters.”

Taeyong couldn’t deny that he felt like a proud parent when only a few minutes later he watched Jisung compose himself after calming down and try again. It wasn’t a perfect second run, but that was to be expected. He’d made sure to let Jisung know that when he’d first developed his magic (which Jisung had been absolutely baffled by given that fae were born with their magic, rather than obtaining it) that he’d been hopeless at anything remotely magical. He could still remember all those long afternoons sitting with Ten as he desperately tried to manifest it again to no avail. The third time was when it seemed to click for his brother. Small, green tendrils broke through the surface of the earth, crawling up slowly but strongly. Taeyong had an affinity for these things, but Jisung had still managed to do a little better than even he was capable of. It really put into perspective how far behind he was in terms of his development, but it didn’t bother him as much as it once had — every day he was getting stronger, now that he’d come into his own.

He was busy doting on the other fae when he heard a small shuffle somewhere from behind them accompanied by an awkward cough which cracked in the person’s throat. It said a lot that Taeyong was able to recognise the sound so easily without any sort of context. He whipped around so fast that he almost fell, though his reflexes meant that he steadied himself rather quickly and was up on his feet before a human could finish blinking and staring with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Hi.”

By the gods, Mark looked . . . somehow he simultaneously looked exactly the same and so utterly different to when Taeyong had seen him last. For one, he looked, well, older, if that made sense? It hadn’t been long enough for him to age enough to warrant such a descriptor yet it was still the first words that came to Taeyong’s mind. It didn’t come from his appearance, per se, though the way his raven hair was swept back off his face (a little longer, maybe) in a handsome coma-hairstyle did give him a more mature appearance, but more so from the way he held himself. There was no hunch in his shoulders, no real nervousness in his eyes, just a fond eagerness. He held himself with an unbreakable confidence.

His cheeks would always hold a little bit of baby fat right in the apples but for the most part all of his features had grown sharper in a way that unfathomably warm rather than cold and harsh, from his jawline to the curve of his cheekbones and the way his brows framed his face. Maybe he’d even grown a centimetre or two, or maybe Taeyong was imagining it. Mark looked absolutely breathtaking.

It wasn’t just that, though — there was a surety in everything about him. Mark was dressed in a pale, long-sleeved shirt which laced in the front towards the top and wasn’t tied up all the way, revealing a faint glimmer of budding muscles. High-waisted and worn black breeches cinched it above his hips and highlighted his silhouette. His shoulders looked broader, more filled out, his waist tapered yet strong, and his thighs pressed against the material of his pants.

Mark would always be a little bit awkward at times, but he didn’t look like he was lost. He looked like he not only knew who he was but embraced it.

Confidence looked incredible on him.

“Mark,” Taeyong managed, breathless, and in return he was graced with one of those sweet, boyish smiles he so adored. “What are you— you said you wouldn’t make it in time?” He wasn’t expecting the other for at least another month, yet. In two weeks their marriage was going to be officiated and the first thing Taeyong had done was ask Mark if he’d come back, even just for this, but he’d replied weeks ago that he wouldn’t be able to return in time for it.

“Uh, about that — surprise?”

Taeyong found himself moving forward before he could help himself and all but threw his body at the other, arms locking around his torso like an octopus and pulling him in as close as he physically could. Gods, he’d missed Mark. Their lips found each other like they were drawn together by magnetism, slotting together perfectly as Mark relaxed underneath his touch and slid one hand up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone tenderly. “I missed you so much,” the other managed in-between breaths and caresses of their lips. “I thought about you—“ gasp “—every day.”

“Me too.”

Taeyong could hear Jisung clearing his throat awkwardly behind them but it was the least of his worries as he separated their lips only to press their foreheads together instead, nuzzling against Mark’s palm. “Do the others know?” The fae asked quietly, as though even speaking too loud would shatter the spell around them. Mark shook his heads and ghosted lips over his again.

“Just Baek, ran into him on my way in. The gang is are waiting with him,” Mark explained with a smile.

“The gang?” Taeyong didn’t want to get his hopes up but it was probably evident from the way his eyes lit up that he got excited at the mere prospect.

“Mm. Jeno and Jaemin decided to stick around after all and, uh, you know we picked up Renjun and Chenle — we offered to drop them home but they wanted to come and see you.”

“Kyungsoo?”

“Ah. Um, he didn’t come with us, but he said he’s happy for you. Chanyeol and Sehun, too, they sent along some wedding gifts to give you.” Taeyong pulled back just a little at that and let his eyes wander over his lover’s face. It was a shame, really, but he wasn’t upset that they hadn’t come — he couldn’t have everything. That being said, he hadn’t expected this.

“They left? What about you? I thought you’d . . . you know.”

“Taeyong.” Mark’s voice was more serious this time around as he captured both of Taeyong’s hands within his own. “I had lots of fun. I’ll admit that. But it’s not the same, exploring the world and knowing what’s waiting for me at home. I’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime,” he promised. “I’m not leaving again, I swear.”

Taeyong didn’t really want to cry right now (even if they would be happy tears) so he forced them down with a small sniff and ignore the stinging in his glassy eyes as he squeezed their hands together and nodded. “Good. I’ll need you around, you know? And there’s . . . there’s so much for you to catch up on already.” Even if his body protested he moved back just a little so that he wasn’t all Mark could see and looked back over his shoulder to where his brother was standing, looking infinitely uncomfortable and awkward. Taeyong beckoned him forward with an encouraging smile.

“Jisung, this is Mark — Mark, this is Jisung. My brother.”

“Nice to meet you. Taeyong talks about you a lot,” Jisung offered, words a little stunted but no doubt polite. To be fair, Taeyong had told Mark everything that’d happened and how he’d met his brother, but it was one thing to know and one thing to see it in person. He was sure his lover hadn’t expected to meet him so quickly.

“Wait, seriously? Oh gods, I didn’t—“ Mark smoothed his hands down his front nervously and the inner corners of his eyebrows were angled high as he stepped forward and held out his hand. Some things would never change because some things were just _Mark_. “Dude, it’s so good to finally meet you, I mean, man, Taeyong mentioned he had a brother — which is so cool, I’m so glad you two found each other. Sorry to just, like, barge in like that, I didn’t know he had company.”

“It’s fine,” Jisung waved off as they shook hands. “You’re giving me a reason to get out of gardening.” Mark laughed after a delayed moment and all Taeyong could do was shake his head, albeit fondly.

“Like you don’t enjoy it,” he teased. Sure, maybe gardening wasn’t Jisung’s forte, and maybe it wasn’t his favourite thing, either, but Taeyong knew better than to think that the time they spent together felt like a chore to the younger. If Jisung didn’t like it he wouldn’t agree so quickly whenever Taeyong mentioned he was free. “Go on, I’ll see you later—“

Taeyong was interrupted by the sound of a child crying. Okay, maybe crying wasn’t an accurate word — wailing, maybe? Either way, the sound was growing increasingly loud with each passing second and, before he could even open his mouth to voice his confusion, a small figure ran out into the courtyard with a dishevelled but familiar man following and latched itself to Mark’s leg.

The figure was indeed a child. He was young, perhaps no older than five, with ruddy cheeks stained with tears and golden, tanned skin; his hair was a medium-toned ashy brown which fell over his forehead and helped to hide where he’d buried his face into the material of Mark’s pants, little fists curled into it desperately. “Mark,” the boy cried in a way that made Taeyong’s heart seize; his fingers twitched with the urge to reach forward.

To his merit, Mark didn’t look overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the boy, though his face did seem to soften rather visibly at his distress. “Hey— come on, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“He got upset that you weren’t back and wanted to find you,” Renjun explained through pants as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.”

Taeyong swallowed thickly and looked between the trio with a confused little frown before his eyes settled back on the boy in question; the ache in his chest morphed into something far more wistful and painful, an ache that he knew would never quite go away. “Who’s this?” He didn’t miss the way Mark tensed. The other male shifted his weight down so that he could crouch and wrap his arms around the boy in an attempt to soothe him. The boy didn’t offer an answer, in fact, if anything he tried to hide even more, desperately burrowed into Mark’s side and clinging on for dear life.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s really shy — he still doesn’t even like the rest of us that much,” Renjun explained. “He barely leaves Mark’s side.”

It wasn’t a challenge, but, well, it sort of was. Taeyong was incredibly good with children. The fae took a second to push down all of the questions that were bubbling up inside him and schooled his expression to something soft and open as he took a few steps closer and crouched down in front of them. “Hi,” he hummed quietly. “My name’s Taeyong — what’s yours?” That, at least, seemed to get the boy’s attention. Two eyes, one brown and one a milky, pale blue — the sort that was nearly inhuman, really — finally peeked out from Mark’s arms with an obvious interest that Taeyong hadn’t quite expected and focused intently on him. It was . . . not quite recognition there, but something, enough to make his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

Taeyong couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes; there was something in them that was so familiar.

There was a nervous sort of apprehension in the way his eyes darted between Mark and Taeyong before he leant up to whisper something in the former’s ear. Mark nodded. “Yes, this is Taeyong. Do you want to introduce yourself, buddy?” Taeyong couldn’t say with confidence that he’d ever experienced Mark around children before, at least not like this, but he was quickly realising just how well he handled them, especially this boy. He could see just how much he cared for him.

Ever so slowly, the child pulled away from the safety of Mark’s arms and walked forward, step by step. It also meant that Taeyong got a proper look at him for the first time. His features were incredibly _soft_ in a way that was sort of inherent with children, his cheeks filled with baby fat that sat below wide, puppy-like eyes that were so incredibly piercing. There was a birthmark that sat on his lips, focused more so on the left, just a few shades darker than his skin and spreading out in an organic shape. It was maybe a few centimetres at most.

There was something in his face that Taeyong couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He sure as hell didn’t expect the boy to forego talking in favour of walking right up to him and wrapping little arms around his body to cuddle in close. Taeyong’s expression shifted into something absolutely dumbfounded but, nonetheless, his hands came up to gently cocoon the boy on instinct, smoothing over his hair; he looked to Mark for some sort of explanation. 

Mark sighed and rubbed at his face.

“When we picked up Renjun and Chenle, we sailed up the coast for a while. Kyungsoo had some errands to run and it was also just for fun, really. We docked in a small town up way north one night and we . . . heard some things, from the locals.”

The last few words had Renjun snorting as he moved forward to flop down onto the ground, legs crossed and hands propped behind him. “Don’t sugarcoat it: a few months of finding less fish in their nets and bad luck and they were looking for someone to blame. Old superstitions. He was a kid who’d just shown up one day with no friends or family and . . . well, he looked different. They saw his eyes and insisted he was cursed.”

“He’s not,” Mark added vehemently with a tick in his jaw. “Kai is just a kid and they were talking about—“

“ _Kai_?” Taeyong’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the pain laced in it was unmissable. Hearing his name, the little boy peered up from his chest with mismatched eyes and blinked a few times.

“Uh, I mean, his name is Jiankai but we sort of shortened it over time, you know? And he seems to like it so we just stuck with it,” his lover back-pedalled quickly, probably realising his mistake. Except it wasn’t a mistake. The name wasn’t exclusive to anyone, it wasn’t like his Kai had been the only one to ever exist, and whilst there was no denying that it wasn’t something he’d ever be _over_ in that sense, it was something he’d come to terms with. Normally he’d be fine, but seeing this boy who, once he started thinking about it, resembled Jongin in a way that was rather uncanny. He’d never met Jongin as a kid and, even then, he doubted that they’d look identical, but there were elements here and there he couldn’t ignore. He looked like a cousin, maybe. A brother, even.

“You took him with you because they were going to hurt him,” Taeyong guessed, likely accurately, as he forced his gaze away from Jiankai to the pair. “You didn’t mention him in your letters.”

“To be fair, we weren’t planning on keeping him,” Renjun offered bluntly. “But he sort of latched onto Mark and he grew on us, even if he’s been really shy, and we didn’t want to just leave him somewhere. Even if we found a good place for him we wouldn’t know if things changed.”

“I figured . . .” Mark mumbled, “you know. I know we can’t keep him or anything but . . . we can find him somewhere safe, yeah? Here?”

Here. With them. Him, Mark, the other’s — it wasn’t plausible for them to have a child in their life, right? They’d find him someone in the city who could give him the life he deserved all along. Taeyong couldn’t imagine what it’d been like. He was lucky that even though people had said things here and there that he’d never been much of a target in terms of his appearance; he’d been small, weak, but he’d fit their views of normal. Jiankai had no one to defend him and, whilst that in itself had made him a target, he’d also been targeted simply due to a genetic anomaly.

Renjun shifted to kneel and reached his hand out. “C’mon Kai, how about we go see Nana and Nono, hmm? We could play hide and seek?” Jiankai adamantly shook his head and held Taeyong a little tighter as he seemed to beg for the opposite with his eyes. It broke any amount of his resolve that’d been remaining.

“Would you like to stay with us for a while, Kai?” Taeyong asked in a fond hum as he fiddled with some of the messier strands of the young boy’s hair, fussing despite himself.

“With you?” Jiankai sounded so painfully shy and uncertain but, underneath all that, there was something warm — hope. “And Mark?” Taeyong nodded and watched the light fill his eyes.

“Mhmm, with me and Mark? Does that sound good?”

“Yong, are you sure? It won’t be a problem?” Mark asked hesitantly.

“Of course not,” he brushed off, “it’ll be nice to have a kid around for a while. I’m sure the other’s won’t mind.”

And they didn’t mind, not really, though there’d been a knowing look in Taemin’s eyes when Taeyong and Mark had introduced the boy with him propped on Taeyong’s hip and playing with his necklace (it’d been more than a little funny how, when the rest of Mark’s little group had caught up, they’d whined about how it wasn’t fair that Taeyong had managed to gain his trust almost instantly whilst they were still struggling). Jongin’s eyes had lit up like a child being offered sweets and Lucas, Baekhyun and Taemin were quick to fawn over Jiankai who, albeit very shy, had at least looked at them and giggled a few times at their antics.

“Taeyong—“

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interjected as he and Taemin watched Mark duck behind a table and pop back out again, pulling rich, childish laughter from their newest guest. “It’s more than likely a coincidence. Reincarnation isn’t something that anyone can prove, even within the realms of magic. I know that Kai is long gone.” Taeyong sighed quietly and looked at the elder out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t mean anything to me, but even without all of this, I’d still want to look out for him until we find him a home, hyung. He’s got no one other than Mark and, well, us, now. It’s just for a while.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” the warlock surrendered. “You’ve always had a big heart.”

Taeyong bumped against his side with a playful little grin and cooed, “and you love that about me.”

Children were children, though, and whilst Taeyong knew from the start that a child who’d endured such things would require a lot of effort and attention even in the short-term sometimes it was easy to let it slip his mind, especially when he’d just gotten Mark home after months apart.

He was two fingers deep in the other’s ass and had his mouth wrapped around the head of the other’s cock when there was a knock of the door. At first, he assumed it was one of their staff and ignored it, if just because they usually got the hint quick enough. Jongin had one of Mark’s legs stretched out and hung up over his shoulder where he was squeezed in between his legs with Taeyong, sucking wet, red marks against his thighs that were littered with faint bite marks, his free hands rolling his balls slowly in a way that drove Mark crazy. Ten was giving his chest a similar treatment and Lucas was rutting lazily at his hip with one hand spanning over Mark’s stomach, Baekhyun’s fingers tangled in his hair to draw his head back as he whispered obscenities in his ear. Taemin was sitting up by Mark’s head and toying with his hair gently, smoothing fingers over his face, letting Mark suck on the digits and smearing the drool around his mouth. Even as he focused on Mark, Taeyong couldn’t help the way his eyes kept flickering to the way Taemin’s cock filled more and more with each moan that filled the air, twitching against his hip every so often. Mark tended to have that effect on people.

Someone knocked again, a little more desperate, and Taeyong pulled back with an audible _pop_ that had Mark’s hips canting against the bed and shaking as he cursed. “I’ll get it,” he mused as he licked his lips. Jongin let out a noise of protest but quickly took his place as he drew away and replaced the fingers Taeyong had withdrawn with his tongue, something which had their lover instantly crying out and writhing underneath their ministrations. “Bonus points if you make him cry.” That earned him a few chuckles as he wiped his hands with one of the warm towels they had off to the side and reached for his favourite robe — the one Baekhyun had brought him home from their trip. It was one of his more modest ones given that it wasn’t sheer and covered everything but it was incredibly comfortable, made of a thicker, velvet-like material in a stunning deep blue that was lined with silk that brushed pleasantly against his skin as he draped it over his body.

Eager to get this over with so that he could return to showing Mark just how much they’d missed him, Taeyong padded over to the door and opened it just enough to peek outside without letting anyone get a look at what was going on. The hall looked empty — until he heard sniffling and looked down. _Oh_.Maybe he should’ve been annoyed, or at least mildly irritated, given that he was about to have an incredible night, one that’d been a long time in the making, but he didn’t have the heart to be once he saw the tears on Jiankai’s face. “Yongie,” he managed between quiet hiccup-sobs, rubbing his eyes, “I had a nightmare.”

Taeyong looked back at his lovers, engrossed in Mark, and internalised a sigh.

“Give me one sec, okay, baby?” Taeyong let the door click shut before walking back over to find a pair of pants — any would do, really. The ones he picked up probably weren’t his by the way they were a little too long and pooled around his ankles but that was the least of his worries.

“What are you doing?” Ten called in a deep purr. “You should be taking clothes off.”

“Little guy’s really upset. I should’ve figured given that it’s his first night here, and the rooms seem really scary when you’re all alone,” he explained as he quickly made a detour back over to the bed. Ten leant forward to try and tug him back down by his robe but he was resolute and gently pushed him back down; he did let him steal a kiss, though. It was so hard not to cave when he was still burning up like a furnace.

“You’ll be back, right?”

“Mm, I don’t know when, though. Make sure he’s nice and worn out for me,” Taeyong mumbled against his lips as Lucas idly fiddled with the edge of his robe.

“Yong.” His eyes flickered to Mark, who could barely focus his glassy gaze and had spit and other fluids wiped around his mouth, cheeks flushed.

“I know, Mark. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

It was absolute torture to turn his back on them and walk away, but not impossible, not with Jiankai involved. Unfortunately, he needed someone now more than his lovers needed him, and he wasn’t going to let Mark miss out on his night. Besides . . . he was back, now. They had forever to make up for his time away. Taeyong was incredibly careful as he opened the door just enough to slip out into the hall and instinctively scooped the boy up into his arms the moment he began to reach up.

It was a different sort of warmth that spread through his chest as Jiankai settled in his arms and sniffled a little, leaning against him. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. Taeyong clicked his tongue and bounced him a little as he started walking back down the hall to the room they’d put him in. It was the one Taeyong had stayed in the first time he’d come here.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Kai — we all have nightmares.”

Jiankai seemed to quiet down by the time he got them back into the boy’s room and sat down on the bed, his tears having stopped and the sniffs far less often. Taeyong took his time to tuck the boy in and make sure he was nice and snug under the blankets before reaching off to turn off the lantern — before his fingers could reach it, little ones curled into the sleeve of his robe and mismatched eyes looked at him with obvious fear.

“Just for a second,” Taeyong promised. Sure enough, the flame went out, but a few seconds later the lantern reignited, this time with a pale flame that held no pigment other than the faintest tinge of blue here and there; it illuminated the room more than it had before but it was a softer light, less harsh on the eyes, more magical. Even more so when after a moment small wisps, little balls of light that were almost like fireflies, drifted up through the top of the lantern and began to leisurely float through the air. It was worth it for the awe that filled Jiankai’s features.

Rather than leaving as soon as the boy was settled in, Taeyong shuffled around a bit before he finally settled right next to him on the bed, above the blankets, though, his fingers smoothing over Jiankai’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” He watched as Jiankai focused on the little wisps for a minute before he swallowed.

“Dark,” the little boy barely whispered. “It’s dark and cold and ‘m scared, and I can hear someone crying. I don’t like the dark.” Taeyong’s throat constricted even as he tried to swallow down the lump that’d formed in it and he tried his hardest not to let his emotions show. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?

“Of course.” Taeyong didn’t even hesitate. “I promise I’ll stay, Kai.”

Long after Jiankai fell asleep, Taeyong stayed by his side, silent tears streaming down his cheeks that he wiped away every few minutes but didn’t bother trying to stop. There was pain and regret, yes, but it was mostly shadowed by something he couldn’t quite put a name too; the tears weren’t bad tears, not really.

—

The Old Gods, and the religion that’d once been devoted to them, was more a concept in the mind of humans than a belief these days. Some people prayed, still, though the practice was becoming increasingly uncommon as time passed. The old temples had long since decayed and fallen to the elements, only ruins remaining, and the scriptures, too, had faded with time; Even their names had long since been lost to the winds of time.

Even so, some things remained. Tradition had a way of seeping into the very cracks of humanity, taking root in ways that no one could predict.

Taeyong stared into the mirror, and his reflection stared back. The man he saw in it was a man that he never would’ve imagined he would be, but now that he was here he found that there was no one he would’ve preferred to be. There was nowhere else Taeyong would’ve preferred to be than here, allowing the finishing touches to be added to his person in preparation for his wedding.

He’d witnessed one wedding when he’d been in the capital, though he hadn’t been involved in the concession whatsoever, he’d simply watched from afar with a small smile. Fae weddings certainly differed from human ones, but they weren’t so different that they were unrecognisable from each other — even so, they’d had to talk long and hard about how they were going to combine them. Taeyong had promised time and time again that he was okay with just a little bit of fae influence given that they had to hit certain points to please the people, but that he did want to incorporate his heritage to some degree. In that sense, he was lucky he’d had other fae with him, fae who actually knew more about their customs than he did.

“You look beautiful, Yongie,” Yuta murmured softly as he altered the draping of the fabric at his front and pinned it in place a little more securely. He was ready, so all of this was just finicking, last-minute touches, most of it just to pass the time and provide him with a distraction from his nerves. Even with all the excitement, they were unavoidable.

“I feel it.” It almost felt taboo to admit— almost. How could he not feel beautiful with all the work they’d put in? The colour scheme was undeniably fae, a rich mix of white layered with gold that glittered in the light with every inhale. His pants were constructed from loose, soft linen which had just enough structure to give him definition, but they were the simplest part of his outfit despite the intricate gold trimming at the cuffs.

Taeyong’s top half was something he’d been sceptical about until the others had helped him into it. White material covered his arms and draped ever so slightly at the sleeves, though when it reached his neck, rather than forming a collar, the material plunged downwards without any connection in the front, like an unbuttoned shirt, minus the buttons. The shirt reached down to mid-thigh but it was cinched at his waist with a golden belt that seemed to be crafted from metals alone; long, flowing branches filled with flowers and leaves connected around it, so realistic in the way they sat that they almost looked alive. Layered on top of the white material, which had the same gilding around the edges as the pants, was a thin, delicate cause which was adorned with golden glitter and motifs of sprawling, detailed flowers. Given that the sort revealed a very deep v of his chest, stopping just shy of his nipples, he felt a little bare, but they’d brushed glitter on his skin, too, and the necklace which Jongin had gifted him before that first ball was hanging down past his clavicles in a comforting weight.

He found that exposed didn’t necessarily incite vulnerability within him anymore — if anything it made him feel strong. Taeyong knew all eyes would be on them, and a large part of him couldn’t wait.

“He’s right, hyung. Jongin isn’t going to be able to take his eyes off you,” Jisung added as he stepped forward and came into view of the mirror. Taeyong’s lips curled as he met his brother’s gaze and let a little bit of colour creep up to his cheeks, adding to what was already there. They’d kept his makeup minimal but the effect was still strong even if it was just accentuating his natural features. His jaw was more pronounced, as were his cheekbones and the arch of his brow, framed by pale hair which was swept back on one side and adorned with golden pins whilst the other side arched down over his forehead. There was a small amount of shadow on his lids and in the outer corner of his eyes with a highlight in the middle that glowed just like the details on his clothing, his lashes darker, and a golden blush that made his face appear simultaneously sharper and softer in some ways.

Taeyong hummed under his breath and fiddled with the rings on his hands as he admired their reflection. “You say that like I’m going to be any different.”

He knew Jongin was going to look incredible. Everyone would if what he’d seen so far was anything to go by; admittedly that was just Johnny, Yuta and Jisung, but they were dressed up in a way that was understated yet also absolutely breathtaking. Looking at them, it’d be near impossible for anyone to mistake them for anything other than fae. Yuta was in black and red which they all knew was practically the signature colours of Weishen these days (though it was exclusively for Sicheng and his inner circle, which said more than words could) and the sides of his hair seemed freshly clipped, dark strands tied back in a loose bun that left his ears on full display. Johnny was dressed in his uniform but they’d managed to spruce it up a little with some accessories here and there.

Jisung was not here as the heir to the fae throne, but rather as his brother — that meant far more to Taeyong. He looked incredibly mature with his brown hair styled back off his face, draped in varying hues of gold, green and orange, the material shimmering in the light; the tunic was high collared and long-sleeved but spit below the waist to make up the tail. Even if he wasn’t here as a prince, he certainly looked the part.

“How are you doing?” Johnny asked as he came back through the door. “They’re ready for you.”

“Just a second,” Jisung added as he slipped back over to the table to fetch something. He returned a moment later and Taeyong instinctively ducked his head to allow his brother to place the fine circlet on top of his hair and direct it into place. It was similar to the belt in the way that it was golden and sported woven strands of intertwined branches and leaves, but it was much more delicate. “There. You’re my brother, and even before this, you were a prince. Remember that.”

Taeyong had to try not to let his eyes water too much as he set a hand on Jisung’s nap and leant forward to bump their foreheads together, sniffing ever so slightly and closing his eyes. “You’re the best brother I could ask for, Jisungie.”

“No crying,” Yuta warned as he patted their backs, “we don’t have time to fix you up _again_.” Okay, maybe he’d already cried once or twice, but they’d been tears of happiness and excitement. “Let’s get you down there before your husband thinks you’ve eloped without him.”

Hours later, as everyone feasted and danced, music and laughter filling the air, Taeyong stared at his husband — his _husband_ — and smiled to himself. He’d known Jongin would be handsome, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the other male. They’d made so many changes to incorporate his culture in the ceremony, from the chalices to the wording of their vows to the fact the main ceremony had been held outside before they’d taken the rest into the main hall. It was more than he could’ve ever dreamed of, but that hadn’t been the end of it.

Taeyong had cried the moment he’d first seen him standing underneath that arch, dressed in an outfit that was a luxe, royal blue which accentuated his shape but incorporated traditional fae elements, too, something which he’d kept secret and consulted with both Yuta and Jisung on. Golden brocade was wrapped around his waist in the form of a sash which rose up across his chest to sit over one shoulder and there was golden thread and leaves weaved into his silver hair, gold glitter swiped across the (much smaller than Taeyong’s) v of his chest and his cheeks. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve pegged Jongin for fae.

Jongin’s warm hand squeezed his under the table and he turned his head to meet his gaze, eyes shining in the light and a loving smile spread across his features. He looked positively ethereal. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked in a low rumble, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. It shouldn’t have even been a question, not when this day had been nothing short of perfect. He was surrounded by the friends and family that he’d made for himself, the people he loved, people who loved him, and after everything they’d endured both together and apart he couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something new.

“Very much so,” he mused softly before arching his neck to steal a slow, gentle kiss. “Are you sure you don’t want to dance again?”

Jongin chuckled and shook his head. “You tired me out, _husband_.”

“Hopefully not too much.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” a familiar voice spoke up from a few feet away, causing them both to instantly look up. Last Taeyong had seen him, Taemin had been on the dance floor with Ten, but now he was standing holding Jiankai’s hand — or, he was until the little boy squirmed away and ran forward to crawl up onto their laps between them and the tables, grinning from ear-to-ear. In just a few short months he’d already come so far out of his shell. Taemin bowed ever so slightly where he stood and held out his hand with a coy little smirk. “May I accompany you for a dance, Your Majesty?” The warlock offered with a twinkle in his eye. Taeyong spared one look at Jongin, who was busy pulling faces at Jiankai but offered an encouraging nod, before slipping out of his seat after a kiss to the top of the little boy’s head.

“Keep him company for me, Kai?”

“Of course!” His enthusiasm was contagious.

The last thing Taeyong cared about was the eyes on him as he descended the few steps from the platform down to the dance floor with one hand enveloped in Taemin’s, his chin held high and a glow radiating from him as he watched the other with an adoring curl to his lips. “I know I told you earlier, but you look absolutely stunning, kitten,” Taemin spoke as they finally found a clear spot and turned to face each other, Taeyong’s hands naturally finding their way to the elder’s shoulders as they began to fall into the rhythm of those around them. For a moment, looking into those golden, feline eyes, he forgot he was in the ballroom and instead saw the night sky of the city as they danced together on a balcony what seemed like an eternity ago.

“Thank you,” he hummed, “you look . . .” Taeyong had already seen all of them — there’d been lots of hugs and a few tears, and sneaky kisses, right after the ceremony — but he still took his time to look over Taemin once more, taking in every detail. The silk blouse that he had hanging off his shoulders looked almost black but reflected a magnificent blue in the light, the chest scooped down to offer a view of his collarbones and a hint of his chest; it was tucked into tight, form-fitting dark pants which were tucked into boots that stopped just below his knees. His dark hair was swept back off his forehead and his eyes were lined ever so slightly, only adding to his beauty. Around his wrist was the cuff Jongin had gifted him and thin, gold chains hung around his throat. “Incredible,” he finally finished, but the word didn’t do him justice.

Taeyong ended up in Taemin’s arms with his head pillowed on the other’s chest, cheek pressed against his heart as they slowly rocked from side to side and he let his eyes trail over the dance floor. Once upon a time, he would’ve thought the inhumanly slow beating of Taemin’s heart as unnerving, but now it was something that soothed him. He could see Lucas and Mark off to the side, leaning against each other and laughing, Ten and Baekhyun plastered to each other on the dance floor with love in their eyes, Jongin sitting up by the main table with Kai on his knee, talking animatedly as the boy played with his crown and put it own his own head.

There were plenty of other familiar faces in the crowd, too. The Weishen boys were here, most of the younger ones off to the side laughing and joking as they took food off trays, looking so much more relaxed and happy than they’d once been; Kun was sipping his drink as Renjun seemed to tell him something that made him smile and Kunhang, Yangyang and Dejun (or the terrible trio, as they were often dubbed) were pushing and shoving as they danced around with each other out of beat. Sicheng . . . Sicheng wasn’t on the dance floor, not that he’d expected any differently, and had remained back at their table off to the side. It wasn’t much of a surprise that the seat next to him was occupied, too, by a certain dark-haired fae. The surprise was the way Sicheng was failing to conceal a pleasant smile, his cheeks swelling as he seemed to chuckle at something Yuta said.

Jeno was watching Jaemin like he was the only person in the room as they moved throughout the room, the latter talking whilst the former stayed silent. Close to the doors to the balcony, he could see Doyoung and Jungwoo wrapped up in each other, sharing a tall glass of liquor and stealing small kisses that they thought were secret, something that made him smile. Somehow, Donghyuck had convinced Taeil to dance with him; the elder did look a little out of his element but there was an undeniable fondness in his eyes as the younger carried on with his antics, a softness to his smile. Chenle was . . . oh. Chenle wasn’t dancing, actually, and he wasn’t at the table he’d started out at, either, but rather at the main table and occupying Johnny’s — who had disappeared, which wasn’t too worrying given Jaehyun couldn’t be seen, either — seat as he conversed with Jisung. Jisung had that tense, constipated sort of expression that Taeyong had come to understand as awkwardness, but he didn’t look like he wasn’t enjoying himself, just— huh, well, shy, he supposed.

They’d sent the invitations plenty of time in advance yet he’d still been relieved when a procession from the northern kingdom had arrived two days ago with more guests than he’d been anticipating in tow. Despite personal friendships, Taeyong understood that their people came first and he knew a wedding wasn’t a top priority for anyone in Minseok’s court, let alone a king. Yet here they were. Jongdae and Yixing were dancing around, wrapped up in each other’s arms, looking back to their king every few minutes where he sat at their table nursing his cup. The scar down the left side of his face did nothing to distract from his looks even if he seemed to instinctively try to hide it these days, the bevelled skin around it pulling at his upper lip ever so faintly and rising up over his cheek to his eye. He hadn’t lost his eyesight from the injury which had been a miracle in itself but it _had_ damaged his sight to a degree. Each time they glanced back at him he’d offer that loving smile which was reserved just for them.

Surprisingly, Junmyeon wasn’t by his side. He’d been around earlier when the sun had still been up, but now that it had finally dipped below the horizon he and his companions seemed to have disappeared. Zitao, who Baekhyun had thankfully been very civil to during their stay, had been looking ready to run since the ceremony began, though, and he couldn’t blame him. At least he looked healthier, these days. The man that seemed to follow Junmyeon everywhere was a complete enigma, though — no one knew where he’d come from or why they were so close. Hell, from what he’d heard he’d tried to kill Junmyeon during the time they’d been away and almost been killed in the process, but once he’d awoken he’d been calm and completely devoted to the seer. He was tall, almost scarily so, with black hair that was always tied back and thick, angular brows that framed shadowy eyes. Yifan, as Junmyeon had introduced, was a man of few words who had never given Taeyong reason not to trust him, but something about him was unsettling. Taeyong couldn’t feel anything from him, though, not even the special signature that he’d come to associate with the energy of humans. He was just . . . blank.

“Do you remember the last time we danced like this?” Taeyong murmured, barely above a whisper. “It was here. Well, sort of. On the balcony.” A steady hum vibrated through Taemin’s chest and he leisurely shifted so that he could look up at the other, chin propped on his pectoral.

“I do. We kissed that night.”

“We did, didn’t we? It’s hard to believe that was the beginning of . . . all this.”

“Not the beginning,” Taemin corrected softly, “not really. It was the start of this chapter of our lives, maybe, but the beginning . . . we were always supposed to end up here, together, but this began the moment we found each other.” Taeyong knew that what the elder spoke of wasn’t the first time they’d met in person that day around the table, his eyes glued to the table as he shook under the weight of their gazes, scared and uncertain, but something _before_ , something he’d once feared at times. He stared up into the other’s slitted eyes and let a hand trail up to cup his jaw.

“Before I even knew you, before I knew what I was, my soul knew that you were out there, waiting. I never realised how empty I felt until you all came into my life.”

“You were the final piece of my puzzle.” Taeyong’s eyes fluttered closed as warm lips grazed over his forehead and he let out a pleased sigh.

“You were the start of mine,” he murmured quietly as dark eyes opened once again and flickered over to the source of the playful, childish voice calling out for him. Mismatched orbs met his own across the sea of bodies and almost closed with the force of Jiankai’s grin as he began toddling through the crowd towards them with Jongin in tow, watching the boy like he was something infinitely precious.

“I think mine is finally complete too, hyung.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for Blood Rites, coming soon . . .
> 
> NOTES:
> 
> \- Jiankai's name, in my mind, is made of the characters 鉴 (jiàn)  
> [mirror, looking glass; reflect] and 开 (kāi)[open; initiate, begin, start]. Take from that what you will c;

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, so apologies for any mistakes/inconsistencies! I'm only one person and unfortunately, with how much I've written in this verse, sometimes I may miss things in editing.
> 
> you can find me on twitter @peachxi1, where I post character aesthetics, snippets, and just shit post in general


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